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Harper's  Stereotype  Edition. 

AFFECTING    SCENES; 

BEING 

PASSAGES   FROM   THE    DIARY 

OF 

A   PHYSICIAN. 


"The  heart  of  the  wise  is  in  the  house  of  mourniiig;  but  the  heart  of 
fools  is  in  the  house  of  mirth."— £cc^.  vii.  4. 


NEW-YORK: 


^cl.T 


PUBLISHED  BY  J.  S-  J.  HARPER,  82  CLIFF-ST. 

Sold  bv  Collins  &  Hannav,  Collins  &  Co..G.  &  C.  &  H.  Car^'ill.  Wliite, 
Gall'aher,  &  White,  O.  A.  Roorbach.  E.  Bliss,  and  C.  S  Francis  :— 
At.banv.  O.  Steele,  and  Little  &  Curnmings  ; — PT^LADEr.PHI^,  John 
Grigg,  Towar  &  Hogan,  E.  L.  Carey  &;  A.  Hart,  T.  Desilver,  jr.,  and 
U.  Huat;—  Boston.  Richardson,  Lord,  &  Holbrook,  Carter,  Hendee, 
<fe  Babcock,  and  Hilliard,  Gray,  &Co. ;— Baltlmore,  W.  <fc  J.  Neal, 
J.  Jewett,  and  Gushing  «fc  Sons. 

1831. 


PRKFACE, 

BY    THE    AMERICAN    PUBLISHERS. 


It  is  one  of  the  maxims  of  inspired  wisdom, 
that  "  it  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning 
than  to  go  to  the  house  of  feasting ;  for  that  is  the 
end  of  all  men, — and  the  living  will  lay  it  to  his 
heart."  The  lessons  taught  from  the  bed  of  the 
dying  are  not  easily  forgotten.  The  sympathies 
of  our  nature  awaken  intense  interest  towards 
those  who  are  evidently  departing  from  the  scenes 
of  human  frailties  and  sufferings  to  a  world  which 
knows  no  change.  We  feel  that  they  have  no 
longer  any  motive  to  mislead  or  deceive  us,  and 
we  listen  to  them  as  we  would  to  the  teachings  of 
an  oracle.  Their  near  Jipproach  to  the  world  of 
spirits  seems  to  invest  them  with  a  keener  insight 
into  the  realities  of  this  world.  With  a  quickness 
of  apprehension  which  belongs  only  to  this  portion 
of  our  existence,  the  whole  history  of  a  life  is 
brought  in  review  almost  in  a  moment.  Self- 
deception  has  now  lost  its  power;  and  every 
action  stands  forth  in  its  own  undisguised  shape. 
Standing  on  this  awful  point,  which  separates  time 
from  eternity,  they  speak  in  a  mamier  which  the 
experience  of  ages  has  deemed  to  be  prophetic  as 
to  the  future,  and  which  all  must  regard  as  the 
highest  testimony  concerning  the  past. 


20501S3 


IV  PREFACE. 

The  members  of  the  medical  profession,  who 
are  constamly  associated  with  the  sick  and  the 
dying — to  whom,  in  the  unreserved  confidence  of 
sinking  humanity,  every  thing  is  communicated, 
must  necessarily  have  at  their  command  a  vast 
treasure  of  interesting  and  instructive  materials. 

But  although  the  bar,  the  church,  the  army,  the 
navy,  and  the  stage  have  all  contributed  to  amuse 
and  inform  the  public  with  their  secret  history, 
that  of  this  profession  has  hitherto  remained  "  a 
sealed  book ;"  and  yet  there  are  no  members  of 
society  whose  pursuits  lead  them  to  listen  more 
frequently  to  what  has  been  exquisitely  termed 
"  the  still,  sad  music  of  humanity.*'  What  in- 
stances of  noble  though  unostentatious  heroism — of 
calm  and  patient  fortitude  under  the  afflictions  of 
intolerable  anguish, — what  appalling  combinations 
of  moral  and  physical  sufferings,  prostrating  the 
proudest  energies  of  humanity, — what  diversified 
developements  of  character, — what  striking  and 
touching  passages  of  domestic  history,  must  have 
come  under  the  notice  of  the  intelligent  prac- 
titioner of  physic ! 

These  scenes,  so  well  calculated  to  furnish  both 
instruction  and  amusement,  have  been  hitherto 
kept  from  the  public  observation  as  carefully  as 
the  Eleusinian  mysteries  were  concealed  from  the 
eyes  of  the  \Tilgar.  Access  is  occasionally  given 
to  the  deathbed  of  some  distinguished  character, — 
Addison  is  seen  instructing  a  profligate  how  a 
Christian  can  meet  death ;  and  Dr.  Young,  in  his 
deathbed  of  Altamont,  has  painted  in  strong  and 
Lasting  colours  the  closing  scene  of  one  whose 
career  too  nearly  resembled  the  profligate  War* 


PREFACE.  V 

wick's.  But  those  in  humbler  walks  of  life  have 
been  overlooked,  as  if  men  could  be  taught  only 
by  great  examples.  The  mine  of  incident  and 
sentiment  which  is  to  be  found  in  ordinary  society, 
so  rich  in  instruction  and  so  applicable  to  our  own 
situation,  has  been  neglected. 

These  considerations  have  led  to  the  publication 
of  the  present  volume, — being  a  series  of  extracts 
from  a  late  physician's  diary ^  originally  published 
in  Blackwood's  Edinburgh  Magazine. 

In  these  sketches,  obviously  dra^Ti  from  nature, 
and  warm  and  vivid  with  the  colour  of  reality,  all 
proper  care  has  been  taken  to  avoid  undue  dis- 
closures. Names,  dates,  and  places  have  been 
omitted ;  and  so  much  of  the  sketches  alone  have 
been  published  as  are  necessary  to  convey  the 
story  and  the  instructive  moral. 

New^-York,  iV/rty,  1831. 

A  2 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAQE 

Early  Struggles  of  the  Author 9 

CHAPTER  n. 

Cancer 44 

The  Dentist  and  the  Comedian 50 

A  Scholar's  Deathbed      .     .  - 51 

Preparing  for  the  House 71 

Duelling 78 

CHAPTER  HI. 

Intriguing  and  Madness 91 

The  Broken  Heart 114 

^  CHAPTER  IV. 

Consumption 123 

The  Spectral  Dog, — an  Illusion 153 

The  Forger 159 

CHAPTER  V. 

A  "  Man  about  Towm" •     ....  174 

Death  at  the  Toilet 212 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Turned  Head 217 

The  Wife •    .  235 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  Spectre-smitten 268 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Martyr  Philosopher 300 


PASSAGES 


FROM   THE 


DIARY   OF  A  LATE  PHYSICIAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

EARLY   STRUGGLES. 


*  *  *  Can  any  thing  be  conceived  more  dreary 
and  disheartening  than  the  prospect  before  a  young 
London  physician,  who,  without  friends  or  fortune, 
yet  with  high  aspirations  after  professional  emi- 
nence, is  striving  to  weave  around  him  what  is  tech- 
nically called  "  a  connexion]"  Such  was  my  case. 
After  having  exhausted  the  slender  finances  allotted 
me  from  the  funds  of  a  poor  but  somewhat  ambi- 
tious family  in  passing  through  the  usual  routine  of 
a  college  and  medical  education,  I  found  myself, 
about  my  twenty-sixth  year,  in  London, — possessed 
of  about  lOOl.  in  cash,  a  few  books,  a  tolerable  ward- 
robe, an  inexhaustible  fund  of  animal  spirits,  and  a 
wife — a  lovely  young  creature  whom  I  had  been 
absurd  enough,  some  few  weeks  before,  to  marry, 
merely  because  we  loved  each  other.  She  was  the 
only  daughter  of  a  veiy  worthy  fellow-townsman  of 
mine,  a  widower ;  whose  fortunes,  alas !  had  decayed 
long  before  their  possessor.  Emily  was  the  gfory 
of  his  age,  and,  need  I  add,  the  pride  of  my  youth ; 
and  after  having  assiduously  attended  her  father 


10  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

through  his  last  illness,  the  sole  and  rich  return  was 

his  daughter's  heart. 

I  must  own  that  M'hen  we  found  ourselves  fairly- 
housed  in  the  mighty  metropolis  of  England,  with 
so  poor  an  exchequer,  and  the  means  of  replenishing 
it  so  remote  and  contingent,  we  were  somewhat 
startled  at  the  boldness  of  the  step  we  had  taken. 
"  Nothing  venture,  nothing  have,"  however,  was  my 
maxim ;  and  I  felt  supported  by  that  unaccountable 
conviction  which  clings  to  all  in  such  circumstances 
as  mine,  up  to  the  very  pinching  moment,  but  no 
longer — that  there  must  be  thousands  of  ways  of 
getting  a  livelihood  to  which  we  can  turn  at  a  mo- 
ment's warning.  And  then  the  swelling  thought  of 
being  the  architect  of  one's  own  fortunes !  *  As,  how- 
ever, daily  drafts  began  to  diminish  my  100^.,  my 
spirits  faltered  a  little.  I  discovered  that  I  might 
indeed  as  Avell 

" lie  pack'd  in  mine  own  grave,*' 

as  continue  in  London  without  money  or  the  means 
of  getting  it;  and,  after  resolving  endless  schemes, 
the  only  conceivable  mode  of  doing  so  seemed  by 
calling  in  the  generous  assistance  of  the  Jews.  My 
father  had  fortunately  effected  a  policy  on  my  life 
for  2000/.  at  an  early  period,  on  which  some  four- 
teen premium.s  had  been  paid;  and  this  available 
security,  added  to  the  powerful  influence  of  a  young 
nobleman  to  whom  I  had  rendered  some  service  at 
college,  enabled  me  to  succeed  in  wringing  a  loan 
from  old  Amos  L of  3000/.,  at  the  trifling  inte- 
rest of  fifteen  per  cent.,  payable  by  way  of  redeem- 
able annuity.  It  was  with  fear  and  trembling  that 
I  called  myself  master  of  this  large  sum,  and  with 
the  utmost  diffidence  that  I  could  bring  myself  tp 
exercise  Avhat  the  lawyers  would  call  acts  of  owner- 
ship on  it.  As,  however,  there  was  no  time  to  lose, 
I  took  a  respectable  house  in  C-^ street,  west — 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  11 

furnished  it  neatly  and  respectably — fortunately 
enough  let  the  first  floor  to  a  rich  old  East  India 

bachelor — beheld  "Dr. "  glisten  conspicuously  on 

my  door — and  then  dropped  my  little  line  into  the 
great  waters  of  London,  resolved  to  abide  the  issue 
with  patience. 

Blessed  with  buoyant  and  sanguine  vspirits,  I  did 
not  lay  it  much  to  heart  that  my  only  occupation 
during  the  first  six  months  was — abroad,  to  practise 
the  pardonable  solecism  of  hurr^'ing  hcmd  passihus 
cequis  through  the  streets,  as  if  in  attendance  on 
numerous  patients ;  and  at  home  to  ponder  plea- 
santly over  my  books,  and  enjoy  the  company  of  my 
cheerful  and  affectionate  wife.  But  when  I  had 
numbered  twelve  months,  almost  without  feeling  a 
pulse  or  receiving  a  fee,  and  M'as  reminded  by  old 

L that  the  second  half-yearly  instalment  of  225/. 

was  due,  I  began  to  look  forward  with  some  appre- 
hension to  the  overcast  future.  Of  the  3000/.,  for 
the  use  of  which  I  was  paying  so  cruel  and  exorbi- 
tant a  premium,  little  more  than  half  remained ;  and 
this  notwithstanding  we  had  practised  the  most  rigid 
economy  in  our  household  expenditure,  and  devoted 
as  little  to  dress  as  was  compatible  with  maintaining 
a  respectable  exterior.  To  my  sorrow,  I  found  my- 
self unavoidably  contracting  debts,  which,  with  the 
interest  due  to  old  L ,  I  found  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  discharge.  If  matters  went  on  as  they 
seemed  to  threaten,  what  was  to  become  of  me  in  a 
year  or  two  ?  Putting  every  thing  else  out  of  the 
question,  where  w^as  I  to  find  funds  to  meet  old 

h 's  annual  demand  of  450/.  1     Relying  on  my 

prospects  of  professional  success,  I  had  bound  my- 
self to  return  the  3000/.  within  five  years  of  tlie  time 
of  borrowing  it;  and  now  I  thought  I  must  have 
been  mad  to  do  so.  If  my  profession  failed  me,  I 
had  nothing  else  to  look  to.  I  had  no  family  re- 
sources ;  for  my  father  had  died  since  I  came  to 
London,  very  much   embarrassed  in  his  circum- 


12  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

Stances;  and  my  motber,  who  was  aged  and  infirm, 
had  gone  to  reside  with  some  relatives,  who  were 
few  and  poor.  My  wife,  as  I  have  stated,  was  in 
like  pHght.  I  do  not  think  she  had  a  relative  in 
England  (for  her  father  and  all  his  family  were  Ger- 
mans) except 

" him  whose  brightest  joj' 

Was  that  he  called  her  '  wife.' " 

Lord ,  the  nobleman  before  mentioned,  ^ho  I 

am  sure  would  have  rejoiced  in  assisting  me,  either 
by  pecuniary  advances  or  professional  introductions, 
had  been  on  the  continent  ever  since  I  commenced 
practice.  Being  of  studious  habits  and  a  very  bash- 
ful and  reserved  disposition  while  at  Cambridge,  I 
could  number  but  few  college  friends — none  of 
whom  I  knew  where  to  find  in  London.  Neither 
my  wife  nor  I  knew  more  than  five  people  besides 
our  India  lodger ;  for  to  tell  the  truth  we  were,  like 
many  a  fond  and  foolish  couple  before  us,  all  the 
world  to  one  another,  and  cared  little  for  scraping 
together  promiscuous  acquaintances.  If  we  had 
even  been  inclined  to  visiting,  our  straitened  circum- 
stances ^vould  have  forbidour  incurring  the  expenses 
attached  to  it.  What  then  was  to  be  done  ]  My 
Avife  would  say,  "Pho,  love,  we  shall  contrive  to 
get  on  as  well  as  our  neighbours ;"  but  the  simple 
fact  was, ^^e  ^vere  not  getting  on  hke  our  neighbours 
— nor  did  I  see  any  prospect  of  our  ever  doing  so. 
I  began,  therefore,  to  pass  sleepless  nights  and  days 
of  despondency — casting  about  in  every  direction 
for  any  employment  consistent  with  my  profession, 
and  redoubling  my  fruitless  efforts  to  obtain  prac- 
tice. 

It  is  almost  laughable  to  say,  that  our  only  re- 
ceipts were  a  few  paltry  guineas  sent  at  long  inter- 
vals from  old  Asperne,  the  proprietor  of  the  Eu- 
ropean Magazine,  as  remuneration  for  a  sort  of 
monthly  medical  summary ;  and  a  trifle  or  two  from 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  13 

Mr.  Nicholls,  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  as  an 
acknowledgment  for  several  sweet  sonnets  sent  by 
my  wife.  Knowing  the  success  which  often  at- 
tended professional  authorship,  as  tending  to  acquire 
for  the  writer  a  reputation  for  skill  in  the  subject  of 
which  he  treated,  and  introduce  him  to  the  notice 
of  the  higher  members  of  his  own  profession,  I  de- 
termined to  turn  my  attention  that  way.  For  several 
months  I  was  up  early  and  late  at  a  work  on  Dis- 
eases of  the  Lungs.  I  bestowed  incredible  pains  on 
it;  and  my  toil  was  sweetened  by  my  wife,  who 
would  sit  by  me  in  the  long  summer  evenings  like 
an  angel,  consoling  and  encouraging  me  with  pre- 
dictions of  success.  She  lightened  my  labour  by 
undertaking  the  transcription  of  the  manuscript ; 
and  I  thought  that  two  or  three  hundred  sheets  of 
fair  and  regular  handwriting  were  heavily  purchased 
by  the  impaired  eyesight  of  the  beloved  amanuensis. 
When  at  lengtli  it  was  completed,  having  been  read 
and  revised  twenty  time.?,  so  that  there  was  not  a 
comma  wanted,  I  hunied,  full  of  fluttering  hopes 
and  fears,  to  a  well-known  medical  bookseller,  ex- 
pecting he  would  at  once  purchase  the  copyright. 
Fifty  pounds  I  had  fixed  in  my  own  mind  as  the 
minimum  of  what  I  would  accept ;  and  I  had  already 
appropriated  part  of  it  towards  buying  a  handsome 
silk  dress  for  my  wife.  Alas !  even  in  this  branch 
of  my  profession  my  hopes  were  doomed  to  meet 
with  disappointment.  The  bookseller  received  me 
with  great  civility ;  listened  to  every  word  I  had  to 
say ;  seemed  to  take  some  interest  in  the  new  views 
of  the  disease  treated  of,  which  I  explained  to  him, 
and  repeated,  and  ventured  to  assure  him  that  they 
would  certainly  attract  public  attention.  My  heart 
leaped  for  joy  as  I  saw  his  business-hke  eye  settled 
upon  me  with  an  expression  of  attentive  interest. 
After  having  almost  talked  myself  hoarse,  and 
flushed  myself  all  over  with  excitement,  he  removed 
his  spectacles,  and  politely  assured  me  of  his  appro- 
B 


14  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

bation  of  the  work ;  but  that  he  had  determined 
never  to  publish  any  more  medical  works  on  his 
own  account.  I  have  the  most  vivid  recollection  of 
my  almost  turning  sick  with  chagrin.  With  a  fal- 
tering voice  I  asked  him  if  that  was  his  unalterable 
determination.  He  replied,  it  was ;  for  he  had  "  lost 
too  much  by  speculations  of  that  sort."  I  tied  up 
the  manuscript,  and  withdrew.  As  soon  as  I  left 
his  shop,  I  let  fall  a  scorching  tear  of  mingled  sor- 
row and  mortification.  I  could  almost  have  wept 
aloud.  At  that  moment  Avhom  should  I  meet  but 
my  dear  wife ;  for  we  had  both  been  talking  all 
night  long,  and  at  breakfast-time,  about  the  probable 
result  of  my  interview  with  the  bookseller;  and  her 
anxious  affection  would  not  permit  her  to  Avait  my 
return.  She  had  been  pacing  to  and  fro  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  and  flew  to  me  on  my  leaving  the 
shop.  I  could  not  speak  to  her ;  I  felt  almost  choked. 
At  last  her  continued  expressions  of  tenderness  and 
sympathy  soothed  me  into  a  more  equable  frame  of 
mind,  and  we  returned  to  dinner.  In  the  afternoon 
I  offered  it  to  another  bookseller,  who,  John  Trot 
like,  told  me  at  once  he  never  did  that  sort  of  thing. 
I  offered  it  subsequently  to  every  medical  bookseller 
I  could  find — with  like  success.  One  fat  fellow 
actually  whiffled  out,  "  if  he  might  make  so  bold," 
he  would  advise  me  to  leave  off  book-making,  and 
stick  to  my  practice.  Another  assured  me  he  had 
got  two  similar  works  then  in  the  press ;  and  the 
last  I  consulted  told  me  I  was  too  young,  he  thought, 
to  have  seen  enough  of  practice  for  writing  "  a  book 
of  that  nature,"  as  his  words  were.  "  Publish  it  on 
your  own  account,  love,"  said  my  wife.  That,  how- 
ever, was  out  of  the  question,  whatever  might  be 
the  merits  of  the  work — for  I  had  no  friends ;  and  a 
kind-hearted  bookseller,  to  whom  I  mentioned  the 
project,  assured  me  that  if  I  went  to  press  my  work 
would  fall  from  it  stillborn.  When  I  returned  liome 
from  making  this  last  attempt,  I  flung  myself  into  ? 


riARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  15 

chair  by  the  fireside,  opposite  my  wife,  without 
speaking.  There  was  an  anxious  smile  of  sweet 
solicitude  in  her  face.  My  agitated  and  mortified 
air  convinced  her  that  I  was  finally  disappointed, 
and  that  six  months'  hard  labour  was  thrown  away. 
In  a  fit  of  uncontrollable  pique  and  passion  I  flung 
the  manuscript  on  the  fire ;  but  Emily  suddenly 
snatched  it  from  the  flames — gazed  at  me  with  a  look 
such  as  none  but  a  fond  and  devoted  wife  could  give 
— threw  her  arms  round  my  neck,  and  kissed  me 
back  to  calmness,  if  not  happiness.  I  laid  the  manu- 
script in  question  on  a  shelf  in  my  study;  and 
it  was  my  first  and  last  attempt  at  medical  book- 
making.        \ 

From  what  cause  or  combination  of  causes  I 
know  not,  but  I  seemed  marked  out  for  failure  in 
my  profession.  Though  my  name  shone  on  my 
door,  and  the  respectable  neighbourhood  could  not 
but  have  noticed  the  regularity  and  decorum  of  my 
habits  and  manners,  yet  none  ever  thought  of  calling 
me  in !  Had  I  been  able  to  exhibit  a  line  of  car- 
riages at  my  door — or  to  open  my  house  for  the  re- 
ception of  company — or  to  dash  about  town  in  an 
elegant  equipage — or  be  seen  at  the  opera  and  thea- 
tres,— had  I  been  able  to  do  this  the  case  might 
have  been  different.  In  candour  I  must  acknow- 
ledge, that  another  probable  cause  of  my  ill-success 
was  a  somewhat  insignificant  person,  and  unprepos- 
sessing countenance.  I  could  not  wear  such  an 
eternal  smirk  of  conceited  complacency,  or  keep  my 
head  perpetually  bowing  mandarin-like,  as  many  of 
my  professional  brothers ;  still  there  were  thousands 
to  whom  these  deficiencies  proved  no  serious  obsta- 
cles. The  great  misfortune  in  my  case  was  undoubt- 
edly the  want  of  introductions.  There  was  a  man 
of  considerable  rank  and  great  wealth,  who  was  a 
sort  of  fiftieth  cousin  of  mine,  resided  in  one  of  the 
fashionable  squares  not  far  from  me,  and  on  whom 
I  had  called  to  claim  kindred  and  solicit  his  patron- 


16  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

age ;  but  after  having  sent  up  my  name  and  address, 
I  was  suffered  to  wait  so  long  in  an  anteroom,  that, 
what  with  the  noise  of  servants  bustUng  past  with 
insolent  familiarity^  I  quite  forgot  the  relationship, 
and  left  the  house,  wondering  what  had  brought  me 
there.  I  never  felt  inclined  to  go  near  it  again ;  so 
there  was  an  end  of  all  prospects  of  introduction 
from  that  quarter.  I  was  left,  therefore,  to  rely  ex- 
clusively on  my  own  efforts,  and  trust  to  chance  for 
patients.  It  is  true,  that  in  the  time  I  have  men- 
tioned I  was  twice  called  in  at  an  instant's  warning; 
but  in  both  cases  the  objects  of  my  visits  had  ex- 
pired before  my  arrival,  probably  before  a  messenger 
could  be  despatched  for  me ;  and  the  manner  in 
which  my  fees  were  proffered  convinced  me  that  I 
should  be  cursed  for  a  mercenary  wretch  if  I  ac- 
cepted them.  I  was  therefore  induced  in  each  case 
to  decline  the  guinea,  though  it  would  have  pur- 
chased me  a  week's  happiness !  I  was  also  on  sev- 
eral occasions  called  in  to  visit  the  inferior  mem- 
bers of  families  in  the  neighbourhood — servants, 
housekeepers,  porters,  &c. ;  and  of  all  the  trying, 
the  mortifying  occurrences  in  the  life  of  a  young 
physician,  such  occasions  as  these  are  the  most  irri- 
tating. You  go  to  the  house — a  large  one,  probably 
— and  are  instructed  not  to  knock  at  the  front  door, 
but  to  go  down  by  the  area  to  your  patient !  I  think 
it  was  about  this  time  that  I  was  summoned  in  haste 
to  young  Sir  Charles  F ,  who  resided  near  May- 
fair.  Delighted  at  the  prospect  of  securing  so  dis- 
tinguished a  patient,  I  hurried  to  his  house,  resolved 
to  do  my  utmost  to  give  satisfaction.  When  I  en- 
tered the  room,  I  found  the  sprig  of  fashion  enve- 
loped in  a  crimson  silk  dressing-gown,  sitting  con- 
ceitedly on  the  sofa,  and  sipping  a  cup  of  coffee, 
from  which  he  desisted  a  moment  to  examine  me 
ihrough  his  eye-glass,  and  then  direct  me  to  inspect 
he  swelled  foot  of  a  favourite  pointer !  Darting  a 
look  of  anger  at  the  insulting  coxcomb,  I  instantly 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  17 

withdrew,  without  uttering  a  word.  Five  years 
aftenvard  did  that  young  man  make  use  of  the  most 
strenuous  efforts  to  oust  me  from  the  confidence  of 
a  family  of  distinction  to  which  he  was  distantly 
related.* 

A  more  mortifying  incident  occurred  shortly  after- 
ward. I  had  the  misfortune  to  be  called  on  a  sud- 
den emergency  into  consultation  with  the  late  cele- 
brated Dr. .     It  was  the  first  consultational  visit 

that  I  had  ever  paid ;  and  I  was  of  course  very 
anxious  to  acquit  myself  creditably.  Shall  I  ever 
forget  or  forgive  the  air  of  insolent  condescension 
with  which  he  received  me,  or  the  remark  he  made 
in  the  presence  of  several  individuals,  professional 

as  well  as  unprofessional — "  I  assure  you,  Dr. , 

there  is  really  some  difference  between  apoplexy 
and  epilepsy ;  at  least  there  was  when  I  was  a 
young  man !"  He  accompanied  these  words  with  a 
look  of  supercilious  commiseration,  directed  to  the 
lady,  whose  "4iusband  was  our  patient ;  and  I  need 
not  add  that  my  future  services  were  dispensed 
with.  My  heart  ached  to  think  that  such  a  fellow 
as  this  should  have  it  in  his  power,  as  it  were,  to 
take  the  bread  out  of  the  mouth  of  an  unpretending 
and  almost  spirit-broken  professional  brother ;  but  I 
had  no  remedy.  I  am  happy  to  have  it  in  my  power 
to  say  how  much  the  tone  of  consulting  physicians 
is  now  (1824)  lowered  towards  their  brethren  who 
may  happen  to  be  of  a  few  years'  less  standing,  and 
consequently  less  firmly  fixed  in  the  confidence  of 
their  patients.  It  was  by  a  few  similar  incidents  to 
those  above  related  that  my  spirit  began  to  be 
soured  ;   and  had  it  not  been  for  the  unvarying 

•  This  anecdote  calls  to  my  mind  one  told  me  by  the  late  Dr.  Hamil- 
ton. He  was  sent  for  once  in  great  haste  by  Lady'P ,  to  see — abso- 
lutely a  little  favourite  monkey,  which  was  almost  suffocated  with  its 
morning  feed.  Wlien  the  doctor  entered  the  room,  he  saw  only  her 
ladyship,  her  young  son  (a  lad  of  ten  years  old,  who  was  most  absurdly 
dressed),  and  his  patient.    Looking  at  each  of  the  two  latter,  he  said 

coolly  to  Lady  P ,  "  My  lady,  which  is  the  monkev '" 

B2 


18  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

sweetness  and  cheerfulness  of  my  incomparable 
wife,  existence  would  not  have  been  tolerable.  My 
professional  efforts  were  paralyzed ;  failure  attended 
every  attempt ;  my  ruin  seemed  sealed.  My  re- 
sources were  rapidly  melting  away ;  my  expendi- 
ture, moderate  as  it  was,  was  counterbalanced  by 
no  incomings.  A  prison  and  starvation  scowled 
before  me. 

Despairing  of  finding  any  better  source  of  emolu- 
ment, I  was  induced  to  send  an  advertisement  to 
one  of  the  daily  papers,  stating  that  "  a  graduate  of 
Cambridge  University,  having  a  little  spare  time  at 
his  disposal,  was  willing  to  give  private  instructions 
in  the  classics,  in  the  evenings,  to  gentlemen  pre- 
paring for  college — or  to  others!"  After  about  a 
week's  interval,  I  received  one  solitary  communica- 
tion. It  was  from  a  young  man  holding  some  sub- 
ordinate situation  under  government,  and  residing 
at  Pimlico.  This  person  offered  me  two  guineas 
a-month,  if  I  would  attend  him  at  his  own  house,  for 
.two  hours  on  the  evenings  of  Monday,  Wednesday, 
and  Friday.  With  these  hard  terms  was  I  obliged 
to  comply — yes,  a  gentleman,  and  a  member  of  an 
English  university,  was  driven  so  low  as  to  attend, 
for  these  terms,  an  ignorant  underling,  and  endea- 
vour to  instil  a  few  drops  of  classic  lore  into  the 
turbid  and  shallow  waters  of  his  understanding.  I 
had  hardly  given  him  a  month's  attendance,  before 
this  fellow  assured  me,  with  a  flippant  air,  that  as 
he  had  now  acquired  "  a  practical  knowledge  of  the 
classics,"  he  would  dispense  with  my  further  ser 
vices.  Dull  dmice  !  he  could  not,  in  Latin,  be 
brought  to  comprehend  the  difference  between  a 
neuter  and  an  active  verb ;  while,  as  for  Greek,  he 
was  an  absolute  choke-pear, — so  he  nibbled  on  to 
Tttifj,  and  then  gave  it  up.  Bitter  but  unavailing 
were  my  regrets  as  I  returned  from  paying  my  last 
visit  to  this  promising  scholar,  that  I  had  not  en- 
tered the  army  and  gone  to  America,  or  even  be. 


DLA.RY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  19 

taken  myself  to  some  subordinate  commercial  situa- 
tion. A  thousand  and  a  thousand  times  did  I  curse 
the  ambition  which  brought  me  up  to  London,  and 
the  egregious  vanity  which  led  me  to  rely  so  impli- 
citly on  my  talents  for  success.  Had  I  but  been 
content  with  the  humbler  sphere  of  a  general  practi- 
tioner, I  might  have  laid  out  my  dearly-bought 
3000/.  with  a  reasonable  prospect  of  soon  repaying 
it,  and  acquiring  a  respectable  livelihood.  But  all 
these  soberer  thoughts,  as  is  usual,  came  only  time 

enough  to  enhance  the  mortification  of  failure. 

******** 

About  300/.  was  now  the  miserable  remnant  of  the 
money  borrowed  from  the  Jew :  and  half  a  year's 
interest  (2251.),  together  with  my  rent,  was  due  in 
about  a  fortnight's  time.  I  was,  besides,  indebted  to 
many  tradesmen — who  were  becoming  every  day 
more  querulous — for  articles  of  food,  clothing,  and 
furniture.  My  poor  Emily  was  in  daily  expectation 
of  her  accouchement ;  and  my  own  health  was  sen- 
sibly sinking  under  the  combined  pressure  of  anxiety 
and  excessive  parsimony.  Wliat  was  to  be  done  1 
Despair  was  clinging  to  me,  and  shedding  blight  and 
mildew  over  all  my  faculties.  Every  avenue  was 
closed  against  me.  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to 
have  more  than  one  or  two  hours'  sleep  at  night,  and 
that  so  hea\y,  so  troubled,  and  interrupted,  that  I 
woke  each  morning  more  dead  than  alive.  I  lay  toss- 
ing in  bed,  revolving  all  conceivable  schemes  and 
fancies  in  my  tortureli  brain,  till  at  length,  from  mere 
iteration,  they  began  to  assume  a  feasible  aspect ; 
but,  alas !  they  would  none  of  them  bear  the  blush 
of  daylight — but  faded  away  as  extravagant  and 
absurd.  I  would  endeavour  to  set  afloat  a  popular 
Medical  Journal — to  give  lectures  on  diseases  of  the 
lungs  (a  department  with  which  I  was  familiar) — I 
would  advertise  for  a  small  medical  partnership  as  a 
general  practitioner — I  would  do  a  thousand  things  of 
the  sort ;  but  where  was  my  capital  to  set  out  with  ? 


20  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

I  had  300/.  in  tlie  world,  and  450/.  yearly  to  pay  to 
an  extortionating  old  miser ;  that  was  the  simple  fact ; 
and  it  almost  drove  me  to  despair  to  advert  to  it  for 
one  instant.  Wretched,  however,  as  I  was,  and 
almost  every  instant  loathing  my  existence,  the  idea 
of  suicide  was  never  entertained  for  a  moment.  If 
the  fiend  would  occasionally  flit  across  the  dreary 
chamber  of  my  heart — a  strong,  an  unceasing  confi- 
dence in  the  goodness  and  power  of  my  Maker  always 
repelled  the  fearful  visitant.  Even  yet,  rapidly  as  I 
seemed  approaching  the  precipice  of  ruin,  I  could  not 
avoid  cherishing  a  feeble  hope  that  some  unexpected 
avenue  would  open  to  better  fortune ;  and  the  thought 
of  it  would  for  a  time  soothe  my  troubled  breast,  and 
nerve  it  to  bear  up  against  the  inroads  of  my  present 
misfortunes. 

I  recollect  sitting  down  one  day  in  St.  James's  Park 
on  one  of  the  benches,  weary  with  wandering  the 
whole  morning  I  knew  not  whither.  I  felt  faint  and 
ill,  and  more  than  usually  depressed  in  mind.  I  had 
that  morning  paid  one  of  my  tradesmen's  bills, 
amomiting  to  10/. ;  and  the  fellow  told  my  servant, 
that  as  he  had  so  much  trouble  in  getting  his  money, 
he  did  not  want  the  honour  of  my  custom  any  longer. 
The  thought  that  my  credit  was  failing  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood was  insupportable. .  Ruin  and  disgrace 
would  then  be  accelerated ;  and  being  unable  to  meet 
my  creditors,  I  should  be  proclaimed  little  less  than 
a  swindler,  and  shaken  like  a  viper  from  the  lap 
of  society.  Fearful  as  were  such  thoughts,  I  had 
not  enough  of  energy  of  feeling  left  to  suffer  much 
agitation  from  them.  I  folded  my  arms  on  my  breast 
in  sullen  apathy,  and  wished  only  that,  whatever 
might  be  my  fate,  certainty  might  be  substituted  for 
suspense. 

While  indulging  in  thoughts  like  these,  a  glittering 
troop  of  soldiers  passed  ^by  me,  preceded  by  their 
band,  playing  a  merry  air.  How  the  sounds  jarred 
on  the  broken  strings  of  my  heart !    And  many  a 


DL\RY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  21 

bright  face,  dressed  in  smiles  of  gayety  and  happi- 
ness, thronged  past,  attracted  by  the  music — little 
thinking  of  the  wretchedness  of  him  who  w^as  sitting 
by.  I  could  not  prevent  the  tears  of  anguish  from 
gushing  forth.  I  thought  of  Emily — of  her  delicate 
and  interesting,  but  to  me  melancholy,  situation.  1 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  returning  home  to  en- 
counter her  affectionate  looks, — her  meek  and  gentle 
resignation  to  her  bitter  fortunes.  Why  had  I  mar- 
ried her,  without  first  having  considered  whether  \ 
could  support  her?  Passionately  fond  of  me  as  I 
well  knew  she  was,  could  she  avoid  frequently  re- 
curring to  the  days  of  our  courtship,  when  I  reiter- 
atedly  assured  her  of  my  certainty  of  professional 
success  as  soon  as  I  could  get  settled  in  London  ? 
Where  now  were  all  the  fair  and  flourishing  scenes 
to  which  my  childish  enthusiasm  had  taught  me  to 
look  forward?  Would  not  the  bitter  contrast  she 
was  now  experiencing,  and  seemed  doomed  long  yet 
to  experience,  alienate  from  me  a  portion  of  her 
affections,  and  induce  feelings  of  anger  and  con- 
tempt ?  Could  I  blame  her  for  all  this  ?  If  the 
goodly  superstructure  of  my  fortunes  fell,  was  it  not 
I  that  had  loosened  and  destroyed  the  foundation  ? — 
Reflections  like  these  were  harassing  and  scourging 
me,  when  an  elderly  gentleman,  evidently  an  invalid, 
tottered  slowly  to  the  bench  w^here  I  was  sitting,  and 
sat  down  beside  me.  He  seemed  a  man  of  wealth 
and  consideration ;  for  his  servant,  on  whose  arm  he 
had  been  leaning,  stood  behind  the  bench  on  wliich 
he  was  sitting.  He  was  almost  shaken  to  pieces  by 
an  asthmatic  cough,  and  was  besides  suffering  from 
another  severe  disorder,  which  need  not  be  more 
particularly  named.  He  looked  at  me  once  or  twice, 
in  a  manner  which  seemed  to  say  that  he  would  not 
take  it  rudely  if  I  addressed  him.  I  did  so.  I  said, 
"  I  am  afraid  you  are  in  great  pain  from  that  cough, 
sir  ?"— "  Yes,"  he  gasped  fK^Tmtly,  "  and  I  don't  know 
how  to  get  rid  of  it.     I  am  an  old  man,  you  see,  sir ; 


22  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

and  methinks  my  summons  to  the  grave  might  have 
been  less  loud  and  painful."  After  a  little  pause,  I 
ventured  to  ask  him  how  long  he  had  been  subject  to 
the  cough  which  now  harassed  him  1  He  said,  more 
or  less,  for  the  last  ten  years  ;  but  that  latterly  it  had 
increased  so  much  upon  him,  that  he  could  not  derive 
any  benefit  from  medical  advice.  "  I  should  think, 
sir,  the  more  violent  symptoms  of  your  disorder 
might  be  mitigated,"  said  I ;  and  proceeded  to  ques- 
4ion  him  minutely  as  to  the  origin  and  progress  of 
the  complaints  Avhich  now  afflicted  him.  He  an- 
sw^ered  all  my  questions  with  civility ;  and  as  I  went 
on,  seemed  to  be  roused  into  something  like  curiosity 
and  interest.  I  need  not  say  more  than  that  I  dis- 
covered he  had  not  been  in  the  hands  of  a  skilful 
practitioner ;  and  that  I  assured  him  very  few  and 
simple  means  would  give  him  great  relief  from  at 
least  the  more  violent  symptoms.  He,  of  course, 
perceived  I  was  in  the  medical  profession  ;  and  after 
some  apparent  hesitation,  evidently  as  to  whether  or 
not  I  should  feel  hurt,  tendered  me  a  guinea.  I 
refused  it  promptly  and  decidedly,  and  assured  him 
that  he  was  quite  welcome  to  the  very  trifling  advice 
I  had  rendered  him.  At  that  moment,  a  young 
man  of  fashionable  appearance  walked  up,  and  told 
him  their  carriage  was  waiting  at  the  corner  of  the 
Stable-yard.  This  last  gentleman,  who  seemed  to 
be  either  the  son  or  nephew  of  the  old  gentleman, 
eyed  me,  I  thought,  with  a  certain  superciliousness, 
which  was  not  lessened  when  the  invalid  told  him  I 
had  given  him  some  excellent  advice,  for  which  he 
could  not  prevail  on  me  to  receive  a  fee.  "  We  are 
vastly  obliged  to  you,  sir ;  but  are  going  home  to  the 
family  physician,"  said  the  young  man,  haughtily ; 
and  placing  the  invalid's  arm  in  his,  led  him  slowly 
away.  He  was  addressed  several  times  by  the  ser- 
vant as  "  5'ir"  something,  Wilton  or  Williatn,  I  think; 
but  I  could  not  distinctly  catch  it,  so  that  it  was  evi- 
dently a  person  of  some  rank  that  I  had  been  address- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  23 

iiig.  How  many  there  are,  thought  I,  that,  with  a 
more  plausible  and  insinuating  address  than  mine  is, 
would  have  contrived  to  have  got  into  the  confidence 
of  this  gentleman,  and  become  his  medical  attend- 
ant !  How  foolish  was  I  not  to  give  him  my  card 
M'hen  he  proffered  me  a  fee,  and  thus,  in  all  proba- 
bility, be  sent  for  the  next  morning  to  pay  a  regular 
professional  visit !  and  to  what  lucrative  introduc- 
tions might  not  that  have  led  !  A  thousand  times  I 
cursed  my  absurd  diffidence — my  sensitiveness  as  to 
professional  etiquette — and  my  inability  to  seize  the 
advantages  occasionally  offered  by  a  fortunate  con- 
juncture of  circumstances.  I  was  fitter,  I  thought, 
for  La  Trappe  than  the  bustling  world  of  business. 
I  deserved  my  ill  fortmie ;  and  professional  failure 
was  the  natural  consequence  of  the  mauvaise  hotite 
which  has  injured  so  many.  As  the  day,  however, 
was  far  advancing,  I  left  the  seat,  and  turned  my 
steps  towards  my  cheerless  home. 

As  was  generally  the  case,  I  found  Emily  busily 
engaged  in  painting  little  firescreens  and  other  orna- 
mental toys,  wiiich,  when  completed,  I  was  in  the 
habit  of  carrying  to  a  kind  of  private  bazaar  in  Ox- 
ford-street, where  I  was  not  known,  and  where,  with 
an  aching  heart,  I  disposed  of  the  delicate  and  beau- 
tiful productions  of  my  poor  wife,  for  a  tritle  hardh^ 
worth  taking  home.  Could  any  man,  pretending  to 
the  slightest  feeling,  contemplate  his  young  wife — 
far  advanced  in  pregnancy,  in  a  critical  state  of 
health,  and  requiring  air,  exercise,  and  cheerful  com- 
pany— toiling,  in  the  manner  I  have  related,  from 
morning  to  night,  and  for  a  miserably  inadequate 
remuneration  ?  She  submitted,  however,  to  our  mis- 
fortunes with  infinitely  more  firmness  and  equanimity 
than  I  could  pretend  to ;  and  her  uniform  cheerful- 
ness of  demeanour,  together  with  the  passionate 
fervour  of  her  fondness  for  me,  contributed  to  fling  a 
few  rays  of  tremblmg  and  evanescent  lustre  over 
the  gloomy  prospects  of  the  future.     Still, however, 


24  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

the  dreadful  question  incessantly  presented  itself — 
What,  in  God's  name,  is  to  become  of  us  1  I  cannot 
say  that  we  were  at  this  time  in  absolute  literal  want ; 
though  our  parsimonious  fare  hardly  deserved  the 
name  of  food,  especially  such  as  my  wife's  delicate 
situation  required.  It  was  the  hopelessness  of  all 
prospective  resources  that  kept  us  in  perpetual  thral- 
dom. With  infinite  effort  we  might  contrive  to  hold 
on  to  a  given  period — say  till  the  next  half-yearly 
demand  of  old  L ;  and  then  we  must  sink  alto- 
gether, unless  a  miracle  intervened  to  save  us.  Had 
I  been  alone  in  the  world,  I  might  have  braved  the 
worst — have  turned  my  hands  to  a  thousand  things 
— have  accommodated  myself  to  almost  any  circum- 
stances, and  borne  the  extremest  privations  with  for- 
titude. But  my  darling — my  meek,  smiling,  gentle 
Emily ! — my  heart  bled  for  her. 

Not  to  leave  any  stone  unturned,  seeing  an  adver- 
tisement addressed  "  To  Medical  Men,"  I  applied  for 
the  situation  of  assistant  to  a  general  practitioner, 
though  I  had  but  little  skill  in  the  practical  part  of 
compounding  medicines.  I  applied  personally  to  the 
advertiser,  a  fat,  red-faced,  vulgar  fellow,  who  had 
contrived  to  gain  a  very  large  practice,  by  what 
means  God  only  knows.  His  terms  were— and  these 
named  in  the  most  offensive  contemptuousness  of 
manner — 80/.  a  year,  board  and  lodge  out,  and  give 
all  my  time  in  the  day  to  my  employer !  Absurd  as 
was  the  idea  of  acceding  to  terms  like  these,  I 
thought  I  might  still  consider  them.  I  pressed  hard 
for  100/.  a-year,  and  told  him  I  was  married — 

"  Married  !"  said  he,  with  a  loud  laugh,  "  No,  no, 
sir ;  you're  not  the  man  for  my  money — so  I  wish 
you  good  morning."* 

Thus  was  I  baffled  in  eveiy  attempt  to  obtain  a 
permanent  source  of  support  from  my  profession. 


*  This  worthy  (a  Mr.  C by  name)  lived  at  this  time  in  the  region 

Df  St.Gcorfte's  in  tiie  cast. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN".  25 

It  brought  me  about  40/.  per  annum ;  I  gained  by- 
occasional  contributions  to  magazines  an  average 
sum  annually  of  about  25/. ;  my  wife  earned  about 
that  sum  by  her  pencil:  and  these  were  all  the  funds 
I  had  to  meet  the  enormous  interest  due  half-yearly 

to  old  L ,  to  discharge  my  rent,  and  the  various 

other  expenses  of  housekeeping,  &c.  Might  I  not 
weU  despair  1  I  did — and  God's  goodness  only  pre- 
served me  from  the  frightful  calamity  which  has  sud- 
denly terminated  the  earthly  miseries  of  thousands 
in  similar  circumstances. 

And  is  it  possible,  I  often  thought,  with  all  the  tor- 
menting incredulousness  of  a  man  half-stupified  with 
his  misfortunes — is  it  possible  that,  in  the  very  heart 
of  this  metropolis  of  splendour,  wealth,  and  extrava- 
gance, a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  who  has  laboured 
long  in  the  honourable  toil  of  acquiring  professional 
knowledge,  cannot  contrive  to  scrape  together  even 
a  competent  subsistence  1 — and  that,  too,  while  igno- 
rance and  infamy  are  wallowing  in  wealth — while 
charlatanry  and  quackeiy  of  all  kinds  are  bloated 
with  success !  Full  of  such  thoughts  as  these,  how 
often  have  I  slimk  stealthily  along  the  streets  of 
London,  on  cold  and  dreary  winter  evenings,  almost 
fainting  with  long  abstinence,  yet  reluctant  to  return 
home  and  incur  the  expense  of  an  ordinary  family 
dinner,  while  mxy  wife's  situation  required  the  most 
rigorous  economy  to  enable  us  to  meet,  even  in  a 
poor  and  small  way,  the  exigencies  of  her  approach- 
ing accouchement!  How  often — ay,  hundieds  of 
times — have  I  envied  the  coarse  and  filthy  fare  of  the 
minor  eatinghouses,  and  been  content  to  interrupt  a 
twelve  hours'  fast  with  a  bun  or  biscuit,  and  a  draught 
of  water  or  turbid  table-beer,  under  the  wretched 
pretence  of  being  in  too  great  a  huriy  to  go  home  to 
dinner !  I  have  often  gazed  with  envy— once,  I  re- 
collect, in  particular — on  dogs  eating  their  huge  daily 
slice  of  boiled  horse's  flesh,  and  envied  their  con- 
tented and  satiated  looks  !  With  what  anguish  of 
C 


36  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

heart  have  I  seen  carriages  seltmg  down  company  at 
the  door  of  a  house,  ilhuninated  by  the  glare  of  a 
hundred  tapers,  where  were  ladies  dressed  in  the 
extreme  of  fashion,  whose  cast-off  clothes  would 
have  enabled  me  to  acquire  a  tolerably  respectable 
livelihood  ! — 0  !  ye  sons  and  daughters  of  luxury 
and  extravagance,  how  many  thousands  of  needy 
and  deserving  families  would  rejoice  to  eat  of  the 
crumbs  which  fall  from  your  tables — and  they  may 
not! 

I  have  stood  many  a  time  at  my  parlour  window, 
and  envied  tlie  kitchen  fare  of  the  servants  of  my 
wealthy  opposite  neighbour ;  while  I  protest  I  have 
been  ashamed  to  look  our  own  servant  in  the  face, 
as  she,  day  after  day,  served  up  for  two  what  was 
little  more  than  sufficient  for  one  :  and  yet,  bitter 
mockery!  I  was  to  support  abroad  the  farce  of  a 

cheerful  and  respectable  professional  exterior ! 

*        *        *■*        *        *        *        * 

Two  days  after  the  occurrence  in  St.  James's  Park 
above  related,  I  was  as  usual  reading  the  columns  of 
advertisements  in  one  of  the  daily  papers,  when  my 
eyes  lit  on  the  following : — 

"  The  professional  gentleman  who  a  day  or  two  ago 
had  some  conversation  on  the  subject  of  asthma  with 
an  invalid  on  one  of  the  benches  in  St.  James's 
Park,  is  particularly  requested  to  forward  his  name 
and  address  to  W.  J.,  care  of  Messrs. ." 

I  almost  let  the  paper  fall  from  my  hands  with  de- 
lighted surprise.  That  I  was  the  "  professional  gen- 
tleman" alluded  to  was  clear;  and  on  the  slender 
foundation  of  this  advertisement,  I  had  in  a  few  mo- 
ments buiU  a  large  and  splendid  superstructure  of 
good  fortune.  I  had  hardly  calmness  enough  to  call 
my  wife,  who  was  engaged  with  some  small  house- 
hold matters,  for  the  purpose  of  communicating  the 
good  news  to  her.  I  need  hardly  say  with  what 
eagerness  I  complied  with  the  requisitions  of  the 
advertisement.     Half  an  hour  beheld  mv  name  and 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  27 

address  in  an  envelope,  with  the  superscription  "  W. 

T."  lying  at  Messrs. 's,  who  were  stationers. 

After  passing:  a  most  anxious  and  sleepless  night, 
agitated  by  all  kinds  of  hopes  and  fears,  my  wife  and 
I  were  sitting  at  breakfast,  when  a  livery-servant 
knocked  at  the  door;  and  after  inquiring  whether 
"  Dr. "  was  at  home,  left  a  letter.  It  was  an  en- 
velope containing  the  card  of  address  of  Sir  William 
,  No.  26,  street,  accompanied  with  the  fol- 
lowing note  : — 

"  Sir  William 's  compliments  to  Dr. ,  and 

will  feel  obliged  by  his  looking  in  in  the  course  of  the 
morning." 

"  Now  be  calm,  my  dear ,"  said  Emily,  as  she 

saw  my  fluttering  excitement  of  manner.  But  alas! 
that  was  impossible.  I  was  impatient  for  the  hour 
of  twelve,  and  precisely  as  the  clock  struck  I  sallied 
forth  to  visit  my  titled  patient.  All  the  way  I  went 
I  was  taxing  my  ingenuity  for  palliatives,  remedies 
for  asthma ;  1  would  new-regulate  his  diet  and  plan 
of  life — in  short,  I  would  do  wonders ! 

Sir  William,  who  was  sitting  gasping  by  the  fire- 
side, received  me  with  great  courtesy ;  and  after 
motioning  his  niece,  a  charming  young  woman,  to 
retire,  told  me  he  had  been  so  much  interested  by  my 
remarks  the  other  day  in  the  Park,  that  he  felt  in- 
clined to  follow  my  advice,  and  put  himself  under  my 
care  altogether.  He  then  entered  on  a  history  of  his 
complaints.  I  found  his  constitution  was  entirely 
broken  up,  and  that  in  a  very  little  it  would  fall  to  pieces. 
I  told  him,  however,  that  if  he  would  adhere  strictly 
to  the  regimen  I  proposed,  I  could  promise  him  great, 
if  not  permanent  relief.  He  listened  to  what  I  said 
with  the  utmost  interest.  "  Do  you  think  you  could 
prolong  my  life,  doctor,  for  two  years  ?"  said  he,  with 
emotion.  I  told  him  1  certainly  could  not  pretend  to 
promise  him  so  much.  "  My  only  reason  for  asking 
the  question,"  he  replied,  "  is  my  beloved  niece,  that 
young  lady  who  has  just  left  us.     If  I  cannot  live 


28  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

for  two  years  or  eighteen  months  longer,  it  will  be  a 
bitter  thing  for  her !"  He  sighed  deeply,  and  added 
abruptly — "but  of  that  more  hereafter.  I  hope  to 
see  you  to-morrow,  doctor."  He  insisted  on  my 
accepting  five  guineas  in  return  for  the  two  visits 
he  said  he  had  received,  and  I  took  my  departure. 
I  felt  altogether  a  new  man  as  I  Avalked  home.  My 
spirits  were  more  light  and  buoyant  than  they  had 
been  for  many  a  long  month ;  for  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  I  had  now  a  fair  chance  of  introduction 
into  respectable  practice.  My  wife  shared  my  joy, 
and  we  were  as  happy  for  the  rest  of  that  day  as  if 
we  had  already  surmounted  the  heavy  difficulties 
which  oppressed  us.  , 

I  attended  Sir  William  every  day  that  week,  and 
received  a  fee  of  two  guineas  for  each  visit.     On 

Sunday  I  met  the  family  physician,  Dr. ,  who 

had  just  been  released  from  attendance  on  one  of  the 
royal  family.  He  was  a  polite  but  haughty  man,  and 
seemed  inclined  to  be  much  displeased  with  Sir  Wil- 
liam for  calling  me  in.     When  I  entered,  Sir  William 

introduced  me  to  him  as  "  Dr. ."     "  Dr. of 

Square  V  inquired  the  other  physician,  care- 
lessly. I  told  him  where  I  lived.  He  affected  to  be 
reflecting  where  the  street  was  ;  it  was  the  one  next 
to  that  in  M'hich  he  himself  resided.  There  is  no- 
thing in  the  Avorld  so  easy  as  for  the  eminent  mem- 
bers of  our  profession  to  take  the  bread  out  of  the 
mouths  of  their  younger  brethren  with  the  best  grace 

in  the  Avorld.     So  Sir contrived  in  the  present 

case.  He  assured  Sir  William  that  nothing  was  cal- 
culated to  do  him  so  much  good  as  change  of  air — of 
course  I  could  not  but  assent.  The  sooner,  he  said, 
Sir  William  left  town  the  better.  Sir  William  asked 
me  if  I  concurred  in  that  opinion  ?  Certainly.  He 
set  off  for  Worthing  two  days  after ;  and  I  lost  the 
best  and  almost  the  only  patient  I  had  then  ever  had, 
for  Sir  WiUiam  died  after  three  weeks'  residence  at 
Worthing. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  29 

This  circumstance  occasioned  me  great  depression 
of  spirits.  Nothing  that  I  touched  seemed  to  pros- 
per ;  and  the  transient  glimpses  I  occasionally  ob- 
tained of  good  fortune  seemed  given  only  to  tanta- 
lize me  and  enhance  the  bitterness  of  the  contrast. 
My  store  of  money  was  reduced  at  last  from  3000/. 
to  25/.  in  cash ;  my  debts  amounted  to  upwards  of 
100/.,  and  in  six  months  another  2-35/.  Avould  be  due 

to  old  L !     My  wife,  too,  had  been  confined,  and 

there  was  another  source  of  expense,  for  both  she 
and  my  little  daughter  were  in  a  very  feeble  state  of 
health.  Still,  secretly  wishful  to  accommodate  her- 
self to  one  lowered  in  circumstances,  she  almost 
broke  my  heart  with  the  proposal  of  dismissing  our 
servant,  the  whole  of  whose  labour  my  sweet  Emily 
herself  undertook  to  perform !  No,  no,  tliis  was  too 
much ;  the  tears  of  agony  gushed  from  my  eyes  as  I 
folded  her  delicate  frame  in  my  arms,  and  assured 
her  that  Providence  Avould  never  pemiit  so  much 
virtue  and  gentleness  to  be  degraded  into  suchhumiH- 
ating  servitude.  I  said  this  :  but  my  heart  heavily 
misgave  me  that  a  more  wretched  prospect  was  be- 
fore her ! 

I  have  often  sat  by  my  small,  solitary  parlour  fire, 
and  pondered  over  my  miseiy  and  misfortunes  till  I 
have  been  almost  phrensied  with  the  violence  of  my 
emotions.  Where  was  I  to  look  for  relief?  What 
earthly  remedy  was  there  1  Oh,  my  God !  thou  alone 
knowest  what  this  poor  heart  of  mine  suffered  in 
such  times  as  these,  not  on  my  own  account,  but  for 
those  beloved  beings  whose  ruin  was  implicated  in 
mine !  What,  however,  was  t©  be  done  at  the  pre- 
sent crisis,   seeing  at  Christmas  old  L v.-ould 

r-ome  upon  me  for  his  interest,  and  my  other  credit- 
ors would  insist  on  payment  ?  A  dewy  mist  came 
over  my  mind's  eye  whenever  I  attempted  to  look 
steadily  forward  into  futurity.  I  had  written  several 
times  to  my  kind  and  condescending  friend    Lord 

,  who  still  rontinued  abroad;  b.ui  as-I  VneAv  not 

C2 


30  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

to  what  part  of  the  continent  to  direct,  and  the  ser- 
vants of  liis  family  pretended  they  knew  not,  I  left 
my  letters  at  his  town-house  to  be  forwarded  with 
his  quarterly  packages.  I  suppose  my  letters  must 
have  been  opened  and  burnt  as  little  other  than  pes- 
tering, begging  letters ;  for  I  never  heard  from  him. 
'-I  had  often  heard  from  my  father  that  M^e  had  a 
sort  of  fiftieth  cousin  in  London,  a  baronet  of  great 
wealth,  who  had  married  a  distant  relation  of  our 
family  on  account  solely  of  her  beauty  ;  but  that  he 
was  one  of  the  most  haughty  and  arrogant  men 
breathing,  had  in  the  most  insolent  manner  disa- 
vowed the  relationship,  and  treated  my  father  on  one 
occasion  very  contumelious! y.  Since  I  had  been  in 
London,  and  suffered  from  the  pressure  of  accumu- 
lated misfortunes,  the  idea  of  "applying  to  this  man, 
and  stating  my  circumstances,  had  presented  itself  a 
thousand  times.  As  one  is  easily  induced  to  believe 
what  one  wishes  to  be  true,  I  could  not  help  thinking 
tliat  surely  he  must  in  some  degree  relent  if  informed 
of  our  utter  misery;  but  my  heart  always  failed 
when  I  took  my  pen  in  hand  to  write  to  him.  I  was 
at  a  loss  for  terms  in  M'hich  to  state  our  distress  most 
feelingly,  and  in  a  manner  best  calculated  to  arrest 
his  attention.  I  had,  however,  after  infinite  reluc- 
tance, addressed  a  letter  of  this  sort  to  his  lady,  who, 

I  am  sorry  to  say,  shared  all  Sir 's  hauteur,  and 

received  an  answer  from  a  fashionable  watering- 
place,  where  her  ladyship  was  spending  the  summer 
months.     Thi.-j  is  it  :-r- 

"  Lady 's  compliments  to  Dr. ,  and  having 

received  his  letter,  and  given  it  her  best  considera- 
tion, is  happy  in  being  able  to  request  Dr. 's  ac- 
ceptance of  the  enclosed  ;  which,  however,  owing  to 

Sir  's  temporary  embarrassment  in  pecuniary 

matters,  she  has  had  some  difficulty  in  sending.  She 
is,  therefore,  under  the  painful  necessity  of  request- 
ing Dr. to  abstain  from  future  apphcations  of 

Ihis  sort.     As  to  Dr. 's  offer  of  his  medical  ser- 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  31 

vices  to  Lady 's  family  when  in  town,  Lady 

must  beg  to  decline  them,  as  the  present  physician 
has  attended  the  family  for  years,  and  neither  Lady 
nor  Sir see  any  reason  for  changing. 

"  W to  Dr.  H ." 

The  enclosure  was  10/.,  which  I  was  on  the  point 
of  returning  in  a  blank  envelope,  indignant  at  the 
cold  and  unfeeling  letter  which  accompanied  it ;  but 
I  thought  of  my  wife,  and  retained  it.  To  return. 
Recollecting  the  reception  of  this  application,  my 
heart  was  frozen  at  the  very  idea  of  a  similar  one  to 

Sir .     To  what,  however,  will  not  misfortune 

compel  a  man!     I  determined  at  length  to  call  upon 

Sir ,  to  insist  upon  being  shown  to  him.     I  set 

out  for  this  purpose  without  telling  my  errand  to  my 
M'ife,  who,  as  I  have  before  stated,  was  confined  to 
her  bed,  and  in  a  very  feeble  state  of  health.  It  was 
a  fine  sunny  morning,  or  rather  noon;  all  that  I 
passed  seemed  happy  and  contented ;  their  spirits  ex- 
hilarated by  the  genial  weather,  and  sustained  by  the 
successful  prosecution  of  business.  j\fy  heart,  how- 
ever, was  fluttering  feebly  beneath  the  pressure  of 
anticipated  disappointment.  I  was  going  in  the  spirit 
of  a  forlorn  hope,  with  a  dogged  determination  to 
make  the  attempt,  to  knozv  that  even  this  door  was 
shut  against  me.     My  knees  trembled  beneath  me  as 

I  entered Place,   and  saw  elegant  equipages 

standing  at  the  doors  of  most  of  the  gloomy  but 
magnificent  houses,  which  seemed  to  frown  off  such 
insignificant  and  wretched  individuals  as  myself. 
How  could  I  ever  muster  resolution  enough,  I  thought, 
to  ascend  the  steps,  and  knock  and  ring  in  a  suffi- 
ciently authoritative  manner  to  be  attended  to  ?  It 
is  laughable  to  relate,  but  I  could  not  refrain  from 
stepping  back  into  a  by  street,  and  getting  a  small 
glass  of  some  cordial  spirit  to  give  me  a  little  firm- 
ness.    Although  I  ventured  again  into  Place, 

and  found   Sir 's  house  on  the  opposite  side, 

there  was  no  one  to  be  seen  but  some  men-servants 


32  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

in  undress  lolling  indolently  at  the  dining-room  win- 
dow, and  making  their  remarks  on  passers-by.  I 
dreaded  these  fellows  as  much  as  their  master !  It 
was  no  use,  however,  indulging  in  thoughts  of  that 
kind ;  so  I  crossed  over,  and  lifting  the  huge  knocker, 
made  a  tolerably  decided  application  of  it,  and  pulled 
the  bell  with  what  I  fancied  was  a  sudden  and  im- 
perative jerk.  The  summons  was  instantly  answered 
by  the  corpulent  porter,  who,  seeing  nothing  but  a 
plain  pedestrian,  kept  hold  of  the  door,  and  leaning 
against  the  door-post,  asked  me  familiarly  what  were 
my  commands. 
.-*'  Is  Sir at  home  1" 

"  He  is,"  said  the  fellow,  in  a  supercilious  tone ; 
"  and  what  then,  sir  1" 

"  Can  he  be  spoken  to  ?" 

"I  think  he  can't,  for  he  wasn't  home  till  six 
o'clock  this  morning  from  the  Dutchess  of 's." 

"  Can  I  wait  for  him?  and  will  you  show  him  this 
card,"  said  I,  tendering  it  to  him,  "  and  say  I  have 
particular  business  ?" 

"  You  couldn't  look  in  again  at  four,  could  you  1" 
inquired  he,  in  the  same  tone  of  vulgar  assur- 
ance. 

"  No,  sir,"  I  replied,  kindling  with  indignation ; 
"  my  business  is  urgent — I  shall  wait  now." 

He  opened  the  door  for  me,  and  called  to  a  servant 
to  show  me  into  the  antechamber,  saymg,  I  must 
make  up  my  mind  to  wait  an  hour  or  two,  as  Sir 

was  then  only  just  getting  up,  and  would  be  an 

hour  at  least  at  his  breakfast.  He  then  left  me,  say- 
ing he  would  send  my  card  up  to  his  master.  My 
spirits  were  somewhat  ruffled  and  agitated  with  hav- 
ing forced  my  way  so  far  through  the  frozen  island 
of  English  aristocracy,  and  I  sat  down  determined 

to  wait  patiently  till  I  was  summoned  up  to  Sir . 

I  could  hear  several  equipages  dashing  up  to  the 
door,  and  the  visiters  they  brought  were  always 
shown  up  immediately.     I  rung  the  bell,  and  asked  a 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  33 

servant  why  1  was  suffered  to  wait  so  long,  as  Sir 
was  clearly  visible  now. 

"  Ton  honour,  I  don't  know,  indeed,"  said  the  fel- 
low, coolly,  shutting  the  door. 

Boiling  with  indignation,  I  resumed  my  seat,  then 
walked  to  and  fro,  and  then  sat  down  again.  Pre- 
sently I  heard  the  French  valet  ordering  the  carriage 
to  be  in  readiness  in  half  an  hour.  I  rung  again  ; 
the  same  servant  answered.  He  walked  into  the 
room,  and  standing  near  me,  asked  in  a  familiar  tone 

\vhat  I  wanted.     "  Show  me  up  to  Sir  ,.  for  I 

shall  wait  no  longer,"  said  I,  sternly. 

"  Can't,  sir,  indeed,"  he  replied,  with  a  smirk  in  his 
face. 

"Has  my  card  been  shoAvn  to  Sir ?"  I  in- 
quired, struggling  to  preserve  my  temper. 

"  I'll  ask  the  porter  if  he  gave  it  to  Sir  's 

valet,"  he  replied,  and  shut  the  door. 

About  ten  minutes  afterward  a  carriage  drove  up; 
there  was  a  bustle  on  the  stairs  and  in  the  hall.     I 

heard  a  voice,  saying,  "  If  Lord calls,  tell  him 

I  am  gone  to  his  house."  In  a  few  moments  the 
steps  of  the  carriage  were  let  down — the  caniage 
drove  off— and  all  was  quiet.     Once  more  I  nmg. 

"  Is  Sir noxi)  at  hberty  V 

"  Oh,  he's  gone  out,  sir,"  said  the  same  servant, 
who  had  twice  before  answered  my  summons.  The 
valet  then  entered.^    I  asked  him,  with  lips  quivering 

with  indignation,  why  I  had  not  seen  Sir ?     I 

was  given  to  understand  that  my  card  had  been  shown 
the  baronet — that  he  said,  "  I've  no  time  to  attend  to 
this  person,"  or  words  to  that  effect,  and  had  left  his 
house  without  deigning  to  notice  me  !  Without  ut- 
tering more  than  "  Show  me  the  door,  sir,"  to  the 
servant,  I  took  my  departure,  determining  to  perish 
rather  than  make  a  second  application.  To  antici- 
pate my  narrative  a  little,  I  may  state,  that  ten  years 
after^-ard.  Sir ,  who  had  become  dreadfully  ad- 
dicted to  gambling,  lost  all  his  property,  and' died 


34  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

suddenly  of  an  apoplectic  seizure  brought  on  by  a 
paroxysm  of  fury !  Thus  did  Providence  reward  this 
selfish  and  unfeeling  man. 

I  walked  about  the  town  for  several  hours,  endeav- 
ouring to  wear  off  that  air  of  chagrin  and  sorrow 
which  had  been  occasioned  by  my  reception  at  Sir 
's.  Something  must  be  done,  and  that  immedi- 
ately ;  for  absolute  starvation  was  now  before  us.  I 
could  think  of  but  two  other  quarters  where  I  could 
apply  for  a  little  temporary  relief.  I  resolved  to 
write  a  note  to  a  very  celebrated  and  successful  bro- 
ther practitioner,  stating  my  necessities,  acquainting 
him  candidly  with  my  whole  circumstances,  and  so- 
liciting the  favour  of  a  temporary  accommodation 
of  a  few  pounds — twenty  was  the  sum  I  ventured  to 
name.  I  wrote  the  letter  at  a  coffee-house,  and  re- 
turned home.  I  spent  all  that  evening  in  attempting 
to  picture  to  myself  the  reception  it  would  met  Avith. 
I  tried  to  put  myself  in  the  place  of  him  1  had  writ- 
ten to,  and  fancy  the  feelings  with  wliich  I  should 
receive  a  similar  application.  I  need  not,  however, 
tantalize  the  reader.  After  nearly  a  fortnight's  sus- 
pense, I  received  the  following  reply  to  my  letter.  I 
shall  give  it  verbatim,  after  premising  that  the  writer 
of  it  was  at  that  time  making  about  10,000Z.  or 
12,000L  a-year. 

" encloses  a  trifle  (one  guinea)  to  Dr. , 

wishes  it  may  be  serviceable;  but  must  say,  that 
when  young  men  attempt  a  station  in  life  without 
competent  fimds  to  meet  it,  they  cannot  wonder  if 
they  fail. 

" Square." 

The  other  quarter  was  old  Mr.  G ,  our  Indian 

lodger.  Though  an  eccentric  and  reserved  man, 
shunning  all  company  except  that  of  a  favourite 
black  servant,  I  thought  he  might  yet  be  liberal. 
As  he  Avas  something  of  a  character,  I  must  be 
allowed  a  word  or  two  about  him  in  passing. 
Though  he  occupied  the  whole  of  the  first  floor  of 


DIARV    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  35 

iny  house,  I  seldom  saw  him.  In  truth  he  was  little 
else  than  a  bronze  fireside  fixture  all  day  lon^,  sum- 
mer and  winter, — protected  from  the  intrusion  of 
draughts  and  visiters,  which  equally  amioyed  him, 
by  a  huge  folding  screen.  Swathed,  mummy-like, 
in  flannel  and  fms ;  squaUing  incessant  execrations 
against  tlie  chilly  EngUsh  chraate  ;  and  solacing 
himself  alternately  with  sleep,  caudle,  and  curry. 
He  would  sit  for  hours  listening  to  a  strange, 
cluttering  (I  know  no  word  but  this  can  give  any 
thing  like  an  idea  of  it),  and  most  melancholy  noise, 
uttered  by  his  black  grizzle-headed  servant — which 
I  was  given  to  understand  was  a  species  of  Indian 
song — evincing  his  satisfaction  by  a  face  curiously 
puckered  together,  and  small  beady  black  eyes, 
glittering  witli  the  light  of  vertical  suns:  thus,  I 
say,  he  would  sit  till  both  dropped  asleep.  He 
was  very  fond  of  this  servant  (whose  name  was 
Clinquabor,  or  something  of  that  sort),  and  yet 
would  kick  and  strike  him  with  great  violence  on 
the  slightest  occasions. 

Without  being  self-interested,  I  candidly  acknow- 
ledge, that  on  receiving  him  into  our  house,  and 
submitting  to  divers  inconveniences  from  his  strange 
foreign  fancies,  I  had  calculated  on  his  proving  a 
lucrative  lodger.  I  was,  however,  verv'  much  mis- 
taken. He  uniformly  discouraged  my  visits,  by 
evincing  the  utmost  restlessness  and  even  trepida- 
lion  whenever  I  approached.  He  was  more  tolerant 
to  my  wife's  visits;  but  even  to  her  could  not  help 
intimating,  in  pretty  plain  terms,  on  more  occasions 
than  one,  that  he  had  no  idea  of  being  "  drugged  to 
death  by  his  landlord."  On  one  occasion,  however, 
his  servant  came  stuttering  with  agitation  into  my 
room,  that  "  hib  massa  wis  to  see — a — a  doctor."  I 
found  him  sufi'ering  from  the  heart-burn ;  submitted 
to  his  astlunatic  querulousness  for  nearly  half  an 
hour ;  prescribed  the  usual  remedies ;  and  received 
in  return — a  guinea  ?     No ;  u  curious,  ugly,  and  per- 


36  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

fectly  useless  cane,  with  which  (to  enhancevits  va- 
lue) he  assured  me  he  had  once  kept  a  large  snake 
at  bay !  On  another  occasion,  in  return  for  similar 
professional  assistance,  he  dismissed  me  without 
tendering  me  a  fee,  or  any  thing  instead  of  it ;  but 
sent  for  my  wife,  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  and 
presented  her  with  a  hideous  little  cracked  china 
teapot,  the  lid  fastened  with  a  dingy  silver  chain, 
and  the  lip  of  the  spout  bearing  evident  marks  of  an 
ancient  compound  fracture.  He  was  singularly 
exact  in  every  thing  he  did :  he  paid  his  rent,  for 
instance,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  every  quar- 
*ter-day,  as  long  as  he  lived  with  me. 

Such  was  the  man  whose  assistance  I  had  at  last 
determined  to  ask.  With  infinite  hesitation  and 
embarrassment  I  stated  my  circumstances.  He 
fidgeted  sadly,  till  I  concluded,  almost  inarticulate 
with  agitation,  by  soliciting  the  loan  of  300/. — offer- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  to  deposite  with  him  the  lease 
of  my  house,  as  a  collateral  security  for  what  he 
might  advance  me. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  falling  back  in  his 
chair,  and  elevating  his  hands. 

"  Would  you  favour  me  mth  this  sum,  Mr.  G ?" 

I  inquired,  in  a  respectful  fone. 

"  Do  you  take  me,  doctor,  for  a  money-lender  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  sir ;  but  for  an  obliging  friend,  as 
well  as  lodger — if  you  will  allow  me  the  liberty." 

"  Ha !  you  think  me  a  rich  old  hunks  come  from 
India  to  fling  his  gold  at  every  one  he  sees." 

"  May  I  beg  an  answer,  sir  ?"  said  I,  after  a 
pause. 

"  I  cannot  lend  it  you,  doctor,"  he  replied, 
calmly,  and  bowed  me  to  the  door.  I  rushed  down 
stairs,  almost  gnashing  my  teeth  with  fury.  The 
Deity  seemed  to  have  marked  me  with  a  curse.  No 
one  would  listen  to  me ! 

The  next  day  my  rent  was  due ;  which,  with  Mr. 
G \s  rent  and  the  savings  of  excruciating  parsi- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  37 

mpny^  cofitrived  to  meet.     Then  came  old  L ! 

Good  God !  what  were  my  feelings  when  I  saw  him 
hobble  up  to  my  door.  I  civilly  assured  him,  with 
a  quaking  heart  and  ashy  cheeks',  but  with  the  calm- 
ness of  despair,  that,  though  it  was  not  convenient 
to-day,  he  should  have  it  on  the  morning  of  the  next 
day.  His  greedy,  black,  Jewish  eye  seemed  to  dart 
into  my  very  soul.  He  retired,  apparently  satisfied, 
and  I  ahnost  fell  down  and  blessed  him  on  my  knees 
for  his  forbearance. 

It  was  on  Wednesday,  two  days  after  Christmas, 
that  my  dear  Emily  came  down-stairs  after  her  con- 
finement. Though  pale  and  languid,  she  looked=* 
very  lovely,  and  her  fondness  for  me  seemed  re- 
doubled. By  way  of  honouring  the  season,  and 
welcoming  my  dear  wife  down-stairs,  in  spite  of  my 
fearful  embarrasspients,  I  expended  my  last  guinea 
in  providing  a  tolerably  comfortable  dinner,  such  as 
I  had  not  sat  doA\Ti  to  for  many  a  long  week.  I  was 
detenrJned  to  cast  care  aside  for  one  day  at  least. 
The  little  table  was  set ;  the  small  but  savoury 
roast-beef  M'as  on ;  and  I  was  just  drawing  the  cork 
of  a  solitar)^  bottle  of  port,  when  a  heavy  knock  was 
heard  at  the  street-door.  I  almost  fainted  at  the 
sound,  I  knew  not  why.  The  servant  answered  the 
door,  and  two  men  entered  the  very  parloiu:,  holding 
a  thin  slip  of  parchment  in  their  hands. 

"In  God's  name,  who  are  youl  What  brings 
you  here  V  while  my  wife  sat  silent,  trembling,  and 
looking  very  faint. 

"Are  you  the  gentleman  that  is  named  here?" 
inquired  one  of  the  men,  in  a  civil  and  even  com- 
passionate tone,  showing  me  a  za-rit  issued  against 

me  by  old  L ,  for  the  money  I  owed  him !    My 

poor  wife  saw  my  agitation ;  and  the  servant  arrived 
just  in  time  to  preserve  her  from  falling,  for  she  had 
fainted.  I  had  her  carried  to  bed,  and  was  per- 
mitted to  wait  by  her  bedside  for  a  few  moments ; 
when,  more  dead  than  alive,  I  surreni^ered  myself 
D 


38  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

into  the  hands  of  the  officers.  1  shall  neve^orget 
that  half-hour,  if  I  were  to  live  a  thousand  years.  I 
felt  as  if  I  were  stepping  into  my  grave.  My  heart 
was  utterly  withered  within  me. 

A  few  hours  beheld  me  the  sullen  and  despairing 
occupant  of  the  back  attic  of  a  sponging-house  near 
Leicester-square.  The  weather  was  bitterly  inclement, 
yet  no  fire  was  allowed  one  who  had  not  a  farthing  in 
his  pocket.  Had  it  not  been  for  my  poor  Emily  and 
my  child,'!  think  I  should  have  put  an  end  to  my  mise- 
rable existence ;  for  to  prison  I  must  go ;  there  was  no 
miracle  to  save  me ;  and  what  was  to  become  of 
Emily  and  her  little  one  ]  Jewels  she  had  none  to 
pawn;  my  books  had  nearly  all  disappeared;  the 
scanty  remnants  of  our  furniture  were  not  worth 
selling.  Great  God !  I  was  nearly  frantic  when  I 
thought  of  all  this.  1  sat  up  the  whole  night  with- 
out fire  or  candle  (for  the  brutal  wretch  in  whose 
custody  I  was,  suspected  I  had  money  with  me  and 
would  not  part  with  it),  till  nearly  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  when  I  sunk  in  a  state  of  stupor  on 
the  bed,  and  fell  asleep.  How  long  I  continued  so 
I  know  not,  for  I  was  roused  from  a  dreary  dream 
by  some  one  embracing  me,  and  reiteratedly  kissing 
my  lips  and  forehead.  It  was  my  poor  Emily,  who, 
at  the  imminent  risk  of  her  life,  having  found  out 
where  I  was,  had  hurried  to  bring  me  the  news  of 
release ;  for  she  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  sum 
of  300Z.  from  our  lodger,  which  I  had  in  vain  soli- 
cited. We  returned  home  immediately.  I  hastened 
up-stairs  to  our  lodger  to  express  the  most  enthusi- 
astic thanks.  He  listened  without  interruption,  and 
then  coldly  replied,  "  I  would  rather  have  your  note 
of  hand,  sir!"  Almost  choked  with  mortification  at 
receivmg  such  an  unfeeling  rebuff,  I  gave  him  what 
he  asked,   expecting  nothing  more  than  that  he 

would  presently  act  the  part  of  old  L .     He  did 

not,  however,  trouble  me. 

The  few  pounds  above  what  was  due  to  our  re- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  39 

lentless  creditor  L sufficed  to  meet  some  of  om- 

more  pressing  exigencies ;  but  as  they  gradually 
disappeared,  my  prospects  became  darker  than  ever. 
The  agitation  and  distress  which  recent  occurrences 
had  occasioned  threw  my  wife  into  a  low,  nervous, 
hysterical  state,  which  added  to  my  misfortunes; 
and  her  little  infant  was  sensibly  pining  away,  as  if 
in  unconscious  sjiiipathy  with  its  wretched  parents. 
\Miere  noiv  were  we  to  look  for  help  ?    We  had  a 

new  creditor,  to  a  serious  amount,  in  Mr.  G ,  our 

lodger ;  whatever,  therefore,  might  be  the  extremity 
of  our  distress,  applying  to  him  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  nay,  it  would  be  well  if  he  proved  a  lenient 
creditor.  The  hateful  annuity  was  again  becoming 
due.      It  pressed  like  an  incubus  upon  us.      The 

foiTO  of  old  L flitted  incessantly  around  us,  as 

though  it  were  a  fiend  goading  us  on  to  destruction. 
I  am  sure  I  must  often  have  raved  frightfully  in  ray 
sleep ;  for  more  than  once  I  was  waked  by  my  wife 
clinging  to  me,  and  exclaiming,  in  terrified  accents, 

"  Oh,  hush,  hush, ,  don't  for  heaven's  sake  say 

so!" 

To  add  to  my  misery,  she  and  the  infant  began  to 
keep  their  bed ;  and  our  lodger,  whose  constitution 
had  been  long  ago  broken  up,  began  to  fail  rapidly. 
I  was  in  daily  attendance,  but  of  course  could  not 
expect  a  fee,  as  I  was  already  his  debtor  to  a  large 
amount.  I  had  three  patients  who  paid  me  regu- 
larly, but  only  one  was  a  daily  patient ;  and  I  was 
obliged  to  lay  by,  out  of  these  small  incomings,  a 

,  cruel  portion  to  meet  my  rent  and  L 's  annuity. 

Surely  my  situation  was  now  like  that  of  the  fabled 
scorpion,  sun-ounded  with  fiery- destruction !  Every 
one  in  the  hcuse,  and  my  few  acquaintances  with- 
out, expressed  surprise  and  commiseration  at  my 
wretched  appearance.  I  was  worn  almost  to  a  skele- 
ton ;  and  when  I  looked  suddenly  in  the  glass,  my 
wan  and  hollow  looks  startled  me.  My  fears  mag- 
nified the  illness  of  my  wife  ;   the  whole  world 


40  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

seemed  melting  away  from  me  into  gloom  and 
darkness. 

My  thoughts,  I  well  recollect,  seemed  to  be  per- 
petually occupied  with  the  dreary  image  of  a  deso- 
late churchyard,  wet  and  cold  with  the  sleets  and 
storms  of  winter.  Oh  that  I  and  my  wife  and  child, 
I  have  sometimes  madly  thought,  were  sleeping 
peacefully  in  our  long  home!  Why  were  we 
brought  into  the  world  1  why  did  my  nature  prompt 
me  to  seek  my  present  station  in  society  1  merely 
for  the  purpose  of  reducing  me  to  the  dreadful  con- 
dition of  him  of  old,  whose  only  consolation  from 
his  friends  was,  "  Curse  God  and  die !"  What  had 
I  done — what  had  our  forefathers  done — that  Provi- 
dence should  thus  come  upon  us,  and  thwart  us  in 
every  thing  we  attempted? 

Fortune,  however,  at  last  seemed  tired  of  perse- 
cuting me ;  and  my  affairs  took  a  favourable  turn 
when  most  they  needed  it,  and  when  least  I  expected 
it.  On  what  small  and  insignificant  things  do  our 
fates  depend.     Truly, 

"  There  is  a  tide  in  the  aflfeirs  of  men, 
Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune." 

About  eight  o'clock  one  evening,  in  the  montli  of 
March,  I  was  walking  down  the  Haymarket,  as 
usual  in  a  very  disconsolate  mood,  in  search  of 
some  shop  where  I  might  execute  a  small  commis- 
sion for  my  wife.  The  whole  neighbourhood  in 
front  of  the  Opera-house  door  exhibited  the  usual 
scene  of  uproar  arising  from  clashing  carriages  and 
quarrelsome  coachmen.  I  was  standing  at  the  box- 
door,  and  watching  the  company  descend  from  their 
carriages,  when  a  cry  was  heard  from  the  very  cen- 
tre of  the  crowd  of  coaches,  "  Run  for  a  doctor !" 
I  rushed  instantly  to  the  spot,  at  the  peril  of  my  life, 
announcing  my  profession.  I  soon  made  my  way 
up  to  the  open  door  of  a  carriage,  from  which  issued 
the  meanings  of  a  female,  evidently  in  great  agony* 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  41 

The  accident  was  this :  a  young  lady  had  suddenly 
stretched  out  her  arm  through  the  open  window  of 
the  carriage  conveying  her  to  the  opera,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  pointing  out  to  one  of  her  companions  a 
brilliant  illumination  of  one  of  the  opposite  houses. 
At  that  instant  their  coachman,  dashing  forward  to 
gain  the  open  space  opposite  the  box-door,  shot  with 
great  velocity,  and  within  a  hair's  breadth  distance, 
past  a  retiring  carriage.  The  consequence  was  in- 
evitable :  a  sudden  shriek  amiounced  the  dislocation 
of  the  young  lady's  shoulder,  and  the  shocking  lace- 
ration of  the  foreaim  and  hand.  When  I  arrived  at 
the  carriage-door  the  unfortunate  suiferer  was  lying 
motionless  in  the  arms  of  an  elderly  gentleman  and 
a  young  lady,  both  of  them,  as  might  be  expected, 

dreadfully  agitated.     It  was  the  Earl  of and  his 

two  daughters.  Having  entered  the  carriage,  I 
placed  my  fair  patient  in  such  a  position  as  -would 
prevent  her  suffering  more  than  was  necessary  from 
the  motion  of  the  carriage ;  despatched  one  of  the 
sen'ants  for  Mr.  Cline,  to  meet  us  on  our  arrival 
home ;  and  then  the  coachman  was  ordered  to  drive 
home  as  fast  as  possible.  I  need  not  say  more, 
than  that  by  Mr.  Cline's  skill  the  dislocation  was 
quickly  reduced,  and  the  wounded  hand  and  arm 
duly  dressed.  I  then  prescribed  what  medicines 
were  necessary ;  received  a  check  for  ten  guineas 
from  the  earl,  accompanied  with  fer^-ent  thanks  for 
my  prompt  attentions ;  and  was  requested  to  call  as 
early  as  possible  the  next  morning. 

As  soon  as  I  had  left  his  lordship's  door,  I  shot 
home  like  an  arrow.  My  good  fortune  (truly  it  is 
an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good)  was  almost 
too  much  for  me.  I  could  scarce  repress  the  vio- 
lence of  my  emotions,  but  felt  a  continual  inclina- 
tion to  relieve  myself  by  singing,  shouting,  or  com- 
mitting some  other  such  extravagance.  I  arrived 
at  home  in  a  very  few  minutes,  and  rushed  breath- 
less up  stairs,  joy  glittering  in  mv  eyes,  to  commu- 
D2 


43  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

nicate  my  good  fortune  to  my  wife,  and  congratulate 
ourselves  that  tlie  door  of  professional  success  was 
at  last  opened  to  us.  How  tenderly  she  tried  to 
calm  my  excitement,  and  moderate  my  expectations, 
without  at  the  same  time  depressing  my  spirits !  I 
did  certainly  feel  somewhat  damped,  when  I  recol- 
lected the  little  incident  of  my  introduction  to  Sir 
William ,  and  its  abrupt  and  unexpected  termi- 
nation. .This,  however,  differed  from  that;  and 
the  event  proved  that  my  expectations  were  not  ill 
founded. 

I  continued  in  constant  attendance  on  my  fair  pa- 
tient, who  was  really  a  very  lovely  girl ;  and  by  my 
unremitting  and  anxious  attentions  so  conciliated 
the  favour  of  the  earl  and  the  rest  of  his  family,  that 
the  countess,  who  had  long  been  an  invalid,  was 
committed  to  my  care,  jointly  with  that  of  the 
family  physician.  I  need  hardly  say  tliat  my  poor 
services  were  most  nobly  remunerated ;  and  more 
than  this,  having  succeeded  in  securing  the  confi- 
dence of  the  family,  it  was  not  many  weeks  before 
1  had  the  honour  of  visiting  one  or  two  other  families 
of  high  rank ;  and  I  felt  conscious  that  I  was  laying 
the  foundation  of  a  fashionable  and  lucrative  prac- 
tice. With  joy  unutterable  I  contrived  to  be  ready 
for  our  half-yearly  tormentor,  old  L ;  and  some- 
what sui-prised  him  by  asking,  with  an  easy  air, 
when  he  wished  for  a  return  of  his  principal.  Of 
course  he  was  not  desirous  of  losing  such  interest 
as  I  was  paying ! 

1  had  seen  too  much  of  the  bitterness  of  adversity 
to  suffer  the  dawn  of  good  fortune  to  elate  me  into 
too  great  confidence.  I  now  husbanded  my  re- 
sources with  rigorous  economy,  and  had  in  return 
the  inexpressible  satisfaction  of  being  able  to  pay 
my  way  and  stand  fair  with  all  my  creditors.  My 
beloved  Emily  appeared  in  that  society  which  she 
was  born  to  ornament;  and  we  numbered  several 
families  of  high  respectability  among  our  visiting 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  43 

friends.  As  is  usual,  whenever  accident  threw  me 
in  the  way  of  those  who  formerly  scowled  upon  me 
contemptuously,  I  was  received  with  an  excess  of 
civility.  The  very  physician  who  sent  me  the  mu- 
nificent donation  of  a  guinea  I  met  in  consultation, 
and  made  his  cheeks  tingle  by  returning  him  the  loan 
he  had  advanced  me  ! 

In  four  years'  time  from  the  occurrence  at  the 

HajTiiarket  I  contrived  to  repay  old  L his  3U00/. 

(though  he  did  not  live  a  month  after  signing  the 
receipt),  and  thus  escaped  for  ever  from  the  fangs 
of  the  money-lenders.  A  word  or  two,  also,  about 
our  Indian  lodger.  He  died  about  eighteen  months 
after  the  accident  I  have  been  relating.  His  sole 
heir  was  a  young  lieutenant  in  the  navy ;  and  very 
much  to  my  surprise  and  gratification,  in  a  codicil  to 

old  Mr.  G 's  will  I  was  left  a  legacy  of  2000Z., 

including  the  300/.  he  had  lent  me,  saying  it  was 
some  return  for  the  many  attentions  he  had  received 
from  us  since  he  had  been  our  lodger,  and  as  a  mark 
of  his  approbation  of  the  honourable  and  virtuous 
principles  by  which,  he  said,  he  had  always  perceived 
our  conduct  to  be  actuated. 

Twelve  years  from  this  period  my  income 
amounted  to  between  3000/.  and  4000/.  a-year ;  and 
as  my  family  was  increasing,  I  thought  my  means 
warranted  a  more  extensive  establishment.  I  there^- 
fore  removed  into  a  large  and  elegant  house,  and  set 
up  my  carriage.  The  recollection  of  past  times  has 
taught  me  at  least  one  useful  lesson,  whether  my  life 
be  long  or  sliort,  to  bear  success  with  moderation, 
and  never  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  applications  from  the 
younger  and  less  successful  members  of  my  pro- 
fession. 

'•  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity ; 
Which,  like  a  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head." 


44  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 


CHAPTER  II. 

CANCER — THE  DENTIST  AND  THE  COJIEDIAN — A  SCHOLAR'S 
DEATH-BED PREPARING   FOR    THE    HOUSE — DUELLING. 

Cancer. 

One  often  hears  of  the  great  firmness  of  the  female 
sex,  and  their  powers  of  enduring  a  degree  of  physi- 
cal pain  which  would  utterly  break  down  the  stub- 
born strength  of  man.  An  interesting  exemplifica- 
tion of  this  remark  will  be  found  in  the  short  narra- 
tive immediately  following.  The  event  made  a 
strong  impression  on  my  mind  at  the  time,  and  I 
thought  it  well  worthy  of  an  entry  in  my  Diary. 

I  had  for  several  months  been  in  constant  attend- 
ance on  a  Mrs.  St ,  a  young  married  lady,  of  con- 
siderable family  and  fortune,  who  was  the  victim  of 
that  terrible  scourge  of  the  female  sex — a  cancer. 
To  great  personal  attractions  she  added  uncommon 
sweetness  of  disposition:  and  the  fortitude  with 
which  she  submitted  to  the  agonizing  inroads  of  her 
malady,  together  with  her  ardent  expressions  of 
gratitude  for  such  temporary  alleviations  as  her 
anxious  medical  attendants  could  supply,  contributed 
to  inspire  me  with  a  very  lively  interest  in  her  fate. 
I  can  conscientiously  say,  that  during  the  whole 
period  of  my  attendance  I  never  heard  a  word  of  com- 
plaint fall  from  her,  nor  witnessed  any  indications 
of  impatience  or  irritability.  I  found  her,  one  morn- 
ing, stretched  on  the  crimson  sofa  in  the  drawing- 
room;  and  though  her  pallid  features  and  gently 
corrugated  eyebrows  evidenced  the  intense  agony 
she  was  suifering — on  my  inquiring  what  sort  of  a 
night  she  had  passed,  she  replied  in  a  caljn  but  tre- 
mulous tone,  "  Oh,  doctor,  I  have  had  a  dreadful 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHVSICIAN.  45 

night ;  but  I  am  glad  Captain  St was  not  with 

me,  for  it  would  have  made  him  very  wretched !" 
At  that  moment  a  fine  flaxen-haired  little  boy,  her 
first  and  only  child,  came  loinning  into  the  room,  his 
blue  laughing-  eyes  glittering  with  innocent  merri- 
ment. I  took  him  on  my  knee,  and  amused  him  with 
my  watch,  in  order  that  he  might  not  disturb  his 
mother.  The  poor  sufferer,  after  gazing  on  him  with 
an  air  of  intense  fondness  for  some  moments,  sud- 
denly covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand  (oh,  how  slender 
— how  sno-wy — how  almost  transparent  was  it !) — 
and  I  presently  saw  the  tears  trickling  through  her 
fingers — but  she  uttered  not  a  word.  There  was  the 
mother! — The  aggravated  malignity  of  her  disorder 
rendered  an  operation  at  length  inevitable.  The 
eminent  surgeon  who,  jointly  with  myself,  w^as  in 
regular  attendance  on  her  feelingly  communicated 
the  intelligence,  and  asked  whether  she  thought  she 
had  fortitude  enough  to  submit  to  an  operation.  She 
assured  him,  with  a  sweet  smile  of  resignation,  that 
she  had  for  some  time  been  suspecting  as  much,  and 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  submit  to  it — but  on  two 
conditions — that  her  husband  (who  was  then  at  sea) 
should  not  be  informed  of  it  till  it  was  over  ;  and 
that  during  the  operation  she  should  not  be  in  any- 
wise bound  or  bhndfolded.  Her  calm  and  decisive 
manner  convinced  me  that  remonstrance  would  be 

useless.     Sir looked  at  me  with  a  doubtful  air. 

She  observed  it;   and  said,  "I  see  what  you  are 

thinking.  Sir ;  but  I  hope  to  show  you  that  a 

woman  has  more  courage  than  you  seem  willing  to 
give  her  credit  for."  In  short,  afterthe  surgeon  had  ac- 
quiesced in  the  latter  condition — to  which  he  had  espe- 
cially demurred — a  day  was  fixed  for  the  operation 

— subject,  of  course,  to  Mrs.  St 's  state  of  health. 

When  the  Wednesday  arrived,  it  was  with  some  agi- 
tation that  I  entered  Sir 's  carriage,  in  company 

with  himself  and  his  senior  pupil,  Mr. .     I  could 

scarce  avoid  a  certain  nervous  tremor— unprofes- 


46  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

sional  as  it  may  seem — when  I  saw  the  servant  place 
the  operating  case  on  the  seat  of  the  carriage.  "Are  you 

sure  you  have  every  thing  ready,  Mr. 1"  inquired 

Sir ,  with  a  cahn  and  businesshke  air,  which 

somewhat  irritated  me.  On  being  assured  of  the 
affirmative,  and  after  cautiously  casting  his  eye  over 
the  case  of  instruments,*  to  make  assurance  doubly 

sure,  we  drove  off.     We  arrived  at  Mrs.  St 's, 

— who  resided  a  few  miles  from  town, — about  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  were  immediately 
ushered  into  the  room  in  which  the  operation  was  to 
be  performed — a  back  parlour,  the  window  of  which 
looked  into  a  beautiful  garden.  I  shall  be  pardoned, 
I  hope,  for  acknowledging  that  the  glimpse  I  caught 
of  the  pale  and  disordered  countenance  of  the  ser- 
vant, as  he  retired  after  showing  us  into  the  room, 
somewhat  disconcerted  me ;  for  in  addition  to  the 
deep  interest  I  felt  in  the  fate  of  the  lovely  sufferer, 
I  had  always  an  abhorrence  for  the  operative  part 
of  the  profession,  which  many  years  of  practice  did 
not  suffice  to  remove.  The  necessary  arrangements 
being  at  length  completed, — consisting  of  a  hate- 
ful array  of  instruments, — cloths, — sponge, — warm 

water,  &c.  &c., — a  message  was  sent  to  Mrs.  St , 

to  inform  her  all  was  ready. 

Sir was  just  making  a  jocular  and  not  very 

well-timed  allusion  to  my  agitated  air,  when  the  door 

was  opened,  and  Mrs.  St entered,  followed  by 

her  two  attendants.  Her  step  was  firm,  her  air 
composed,  and  her  pale  features  irradiated  with  a 
smile — sad,  however,  as  the  cold  twilight  of  October. 
She  was  then  about  twenty-six  or  seven  years  of 
age,  and  under  all  the  disadvantageous  circum- 
stances in  which  she  was  placed,  looked  at  that  mo- 
ment a  beautiful  woman.     Her  hair  was  light  auburn, 

*  I  once  saw  the  life  of  a  patient  lost,  merely  through  the  want  of 

such  laudable  precaution  as  that  of  Sir  ■ in  the  present  instance. 

An  indispensable  instrument  was  suddenly  required,  in  the  middle  of 
the  operation ;  and,  to  the  dismay  of  the  operator  and  those  around  him, 
there  was  none  at  hand  I 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  47 

and  hung  back  neglectedly  over  a  forehead  and  neck 
white  as  marble.  Her  full  blue  eyes,  which  usually 
beamed  with  a  delicious  pensive  expression  from 
beneath 

"  the  soft  languor  of  the  drooping  lid," 

were  now  lighted  with  the  glitter  of  a  restlessness 
and  agitation  which  the  noblest  degree  of  self-com- 
mand could  not  entirely  conceal  or  repress.  Her 
features  were  regular,  her  nose  and  mouth  were 
exquisitely  chiselled,  and  her  complexion  fair, 
almost  to  transparency.  Indeed,  an  eminent  medical 
writer  has  remarked  that  the  most  beautiful  women 
are  generally  the  subjects  of  this  tenible  disease.  A 
large  Indian  shawl  was  thrown  over  her  shoulders, 
and  she  wore  a  white  muslin  dressing-gown.  And 
was  it  this  innocent  and  beautiful  being  who  was 
doomed  to  writhe  beneath  the  torture  and  disfigure- 
ment of  the  operating  knife "?  My  heart  ached.  A 
decanter  of  port  wine  and  some  glasses  were  placed 
on  a  small  table  near  the  window ;  she  beckoned  me 
towards  it,  and  was  going  to  speak. 

"  Allow  me,  my  dear  madam,  to  pour  you  a  glass 
of  wine,"  said  I. 

"  If  it  would  do  me  good,  doctor,"  she  whispered. 
She  barely  touched  the  glass  with  her  lips,  and  then 
handed  it  to  me,  saying,  with  assumed  cheerfulness, 
"  Come,  doctor,  I  see  you  need  it  as  much  as  I  do, 
aft^vall.  Yes,  doctor,"  she  continued  with  empha- 
sis, "*^-ou  are  very,  very  kind  and  feeling  to  me." 
Whpn  I  had  set  down  the  glass,  she  continued, 
"Dear  doctor,  do  forgive  a  woman's  weakness ;  and 
try  if  you  can  hold  this  letter,  which  I  received  yester- 
day from  Captain  St ,  and  in  which  he  speaks 

very  fondly,  so  that  my  eyes  may  rest  on  his  dear 
'^ ha^idwriting  all  the  while  lam  sitting  here,  without 
'* being  noticed  by  any  one  else  ;  will  you  ]" 
, ,   "  Madam,  you  must   really  excuse  me — it  will 
^^  imitate  you — I  must  beg — " 


48  PASSAGES    FROM   THE       , 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  replied,  with « firmness  j 
"  it  will  rather  compose  me.  And  if  I  should — " 
expire,  she  was  going  to  have  said,  but  her  tongue 
refused  utterance.  She  then  put  the  letter  into  my 
hand ;  hers  was  cold,  icy  cold,  and  clammy,  but  I 
did  not  perceive  it  tremble. 

"  In  return,  madam,  you  must  give  me  leave  to  hold 
your  hand  during  the  operation." 

"  What !  you  fear  me,  doctor  ?"  she  replied,  w^ith 
a  faint  smile,  but  did  not  refuse  my  request.    At  this 

moment.  Sir approached  us  with  a  cheerful  air, 

saying,  "  Well,  madam,  is  your  tete-a-tete  finished  ? 
I  want  to  get  this  little  matter  over,  and  give  you 
permanent  ease."  I  do  not  think  there  ever  lived  a 
professional  man  who  could  speak  with  such  an 
assuring  air  as  Sir . 

"  I  am  ready,  Sir .   Are  the  servants  sent  out  ?" 

she  inquired  of  one  of  the  women  present. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  she  replied,  in  tears. 

"  And  my  little  Harry?"    Mrs.  St asked,  in  a 

fainter  tone.     She  was  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Then  I  am  prepared,"  said  she,  and  sat  down  in 
the  chair  that  was  placed  for  her.  One  of  the  at- 
tendants then  removed  the  shawl  from  her  shoulders, 

and  Mrs.  St herself,  with  perfect  composure, 

assisted  in  displacing  as  much  of  her  dress  as  was 

necessary.     She  then  suffered  Sir to  place  her 

on  the  corner  side  of  the  chair,  with  her  left  arm 
thrown  over  the  back  of  it,  and  her  face  looking,over 
her  right  shoulder.  She  gave  me  her  right  hand ; 
and  with  my  left  I  endeavoured  to  hold  Captain 

St 's  letter,  as  she  had  desired.     She   smiled 

sweetly,  as  if  to  assure  me  of  her  fortitude;  and 
there  was  something  so  indescribably  affecting  in 
the  expression  of  her  full  blue  eyes,  that  it  almost 
broke  my  heart.  I  shall  never  forget  that  smi|e 
as  long  as  I  live !  Half-closing  her  eyes,  slie  fixed 
them  on  the  letter  I  held,  and  did  not  once  remove 
them  till  all  was  over.     Nothing  could  console  me 


DIARY    OP   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  49 

at  this  trying  moment,  but  the  conviction  of  the  con- 

smnmate  skill  of  Sir ,  who  now,  with  a  calm 

eye  and  a  steady  hand,  commenced  the  operation. 
At  the  instant  of  the  first  incision  fier  whole  frame 
quivered  with  a  convulsive  shudder,  and  her  cheeks 
became  ashy  pale.  I  prayed  inwardly  that  she  might 
faint,  so  that  the  earlier  stage  of  the  operation  might 
be  got  over  while  she  was  in  a  state  of  insensibility. 
It  was  not  the  case,  however ;  her  eyes  continued 
riveted  in  one  long  burning  gaze  of  fondness  on  the 
beloved  handwriting  of  her  husband ;  and  she  moved 
not  a  limb,  nor  uttered  more  than  an  occasional 
sigh,  during  the  whole  of  the  protracted  and  painful 
operation.  When  the  last  bandage  had  been  applied, 
she  whispered,  almost  inarticulately,  "  Is  it  all  over, 
doctor  r' 

"  Yes,  madam,"  I  replied ;  "  and  we  are  going  to 
carry  you  up  to  bed." 

"No,  no — I  think  I  can  walk;  I  will  try,"  said 
she,  and  endeavoured  to  rise ;  but  on  Sir as- 
suring her  that  the  motion  might  perhaps  induce  fatal 
consequences,  she  desisted,  and  we  carried  her, 
sitting  in  the  chair,  up  to  bed.  The  instant  we  had 
laid  her  down  she  swooned,  and  continued  so  long 

insensible  that  Sir held  a  looking-glass  over  her 

mouth  and  nostrils,  apprehensive  that  the  vital  ener- 
gies had  at  last  sunk  under  the  terrible  struggle. 
She  recovered,  however ;  and  under  the  influence  of 

an  opiate  draught,  slept  for  several  hours. 

*****         *** 

Mrs.  St recovered,  though  very  slowly;  and  I 

attended  her  assiduously,  sometimes  two  or  three 
times  a-day,  till  she  could  be  removed  to  the  sea- 
side. I  shall  not  easily  forget  an  observ^ation  she 
made  at  the  last  visit  I  paid  her.  She  was  alluding, 
one  morning,  distantly  and  delicately  to  the  personal 
disfigurement  she  had  suffered.  I,  of  course,  said 
all  that  was  soothing. 

"  But,  doctor,  my  husband — "  said  she,  suddenly, 
E 


50  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

while  a  faint  crimson  mantled  on  her  cheek ;  adding, 

falteringly,  after  a  pause,  "  I  think  St will  love 

me  yet !" 

The  Dentist  and  the  Comedian. 

Friday,  — 18 — .   A  ludicrous  contretems  happened 
to-day,  which  I  wish  I  could  describe  as  forcibly  as 

it  struck  me.     Mr. ,  the  well-known  comedian, 

with  whom  I  was  on  terms  of  intimacy,  after  having 
suffered  so  severely  from  the  toothache  as  to  be  pre- 
vented for  two  evenings  from  taking  his  part  in  the 

play,  sent,  under  my  direction,  for  Mons.  ,  a 

fashionable  dentist,  then  but  recently  imported  from 
France.  While  I  was  sitting  with  my  friend,  en- 
deavouring to  "  screw  his  courage  up  to  the  stick- 
ing-place,"  monsieur  arrived,  duly  furnished  with 
the  "tools  of  his  craft."  The  comedian  sat  down 
with  a  rueful  visage,  and  eyed  the  dentist's  formi- 
dable preparations  with  a  piteous  and  disconcerted 
air.  As  soon  as  I  had  taken  my  station  behind,  for 
the  purpose  of  holding  the  patient's  head,  the  gum 
was  lanced  without  much  ado ;  but  as  the  doomed 
tooth  was  a  very  formidable  broad-rooted  molar, 
monsieur  prepared  for  a  vigorous  effort.  He  was 
just  commencing  the  dreadful  wrench,  when  he 
suddenly  relaxed  his  hold,  retired  a  step  or  two  from 
his  patient,  and  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of  laughter !  Up 
started  the  astounded  comedian,  and  with  clenched 
fists  demanded  furiously,  "  What  the  d — 1  he  meant  by 
such  conduct '?"  The  little  bewhiskered  foreigner, 
however,  contnmed  standing  at  a  little  distance,  still 
so  convulsed  with  laughter  as  to  disregard  the  me- 
nacing movements  of  his  patient ;  and  exclaiming, 
"  Ah,  mon  Dieu ! — ver  good — ver  good — Men  !   ha, 

ha ! — Be  ^ar,  monsieur,  you  pull  one  such  d d 

queer,  extraordinaire  comique  face  ;  be  Gar,  like  one 
big  fiddle !"  or  words  to  that  effect.    The  dentist  M-as 

right :  Mr. 's  features  were  odd  enough  at  all 

times;  but  on  the  present  occasion  they  suffered 


diAry'of  a  late  physician.  61 

such  excruciating  contortions — such  a  strange  puck- 
ering together  of  the  mouth  and  cheeks,  and  upturn- 
ing of  the  eyes,  that  it  was  ten  thousand  times  more 
laughable  than  any  artificially  distorted  features  with 
which  he  used  to  set  Drury-Lane  in  a  roar. — Oh  that 
a  painter  had  been  present !— There  was,  on  one 
side,  my  friend,  standing  in  menacing  attitude,  with 
both  fists  clenched,his  left  cheek  swelled,  and  looking 
as  if  the  mastication  of  a  large  apple  had  been  sud- 
denly suspended,  and  his  whole  features  creating  a 
grotesque  expression  of  mingled  pain,  indecision,  and 
fury.  Then  there  was  the  operator  beginning  to 
look  a  little  startled  at  the  probable  consequences 
of  his  sally ;  and,  lastly,  I  stood  a  little  aside,  almost 
suffocated  with  suppressed  laughter!  At  length, 
however, 's  perception  of  the  ridiculous  pre- 
vailed ;  and  after  a  very  hearty  laugh,  and  exclaim- 
ing, "  I  must  have  looked  d d  odd,  I  suppose !"  he 

once  more  resigned  himself  into  the  hands  of 
monsieur,  and  the  tooth  was  out  in  a  twinkling. 


j9  SchoIar^s  Death-bed. 

[The  following  short  but  melancholy  narrative  will,  it  is  hoped,  be 
perused  with  additional  interest,  when  the  reader  is  assured  that  it  is 
FACT.  Much  more  might  have  been  committed  to  press ;  but  as  it  would 
have  related  chiefly  to  a  mad  devotion  to  alchymy,  which  some  of 

Mr. 's  few  posthumous  papers  abundnntly  e%idence,  it  is  omitted, 

lest  the  reader  should  consider  the  details  as  romantic  or  improbable. 
All  that  is  worth  recording  is  told ;  and  it  is  hoped  that  some  young 
men  of  powerful,  undisciplined,  and  ambitious  minds  will  find  their  ac- 
count iu  an  attentive  consideration  of  the  fate  of  a  kindred  spirit. — Bene 
facit,  qui  ex  aliorum  erroribus  sibi  exemplum  sumat.] 

TmNKiNG,  one  morning,  that  I  had  gone  through 
the  whole  of  my  usual  levee  of  home-patiertts,  I 
was  preparing  to  go  out,  when  the  servant  informed 
me  there  was  one  yet  to  be  spoken  with,  who,  he 
thought,  must  have  been  asleep  in  a  comer  of  the 
room,  or  he  should  not  have  failed  to  summon  him 
in  his  turn.  Directing  him  to  be  shown  in  imme- 
diately, I  retook  my  place  at  my  desk.    The  servant 


52  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

in  a  few  moments  ushered  in  a  yomig  man,  who 
seemed  to  have  scarce  strength  enough,  even  with 
the  assistance  of  a  walking-stick,  to  totter  to  a  chair 
opposite  me.  I  was  much  struck  with  his  appear- 
ance, which  was  that  of  one  in  reduced  circum- 
stances. His  clothes,  though  perfectly  clean  and 
neat,  were  faded  and  threadbare ;  and  his  coat  was 
buttoned  up  to  his  chin,  where  it  was  joined  by  a 
black  silk  neck-kerchief,  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
lead  me  to  suspect  the  absence  of  a  shirt.  He  was 
rather  below  than  above  the  average  height,  and 
seemed  wasted  almost  to  a  shadow.  There  was  an 
air  of  superior  ease  and  politeness  in  his  demeanour ; 
'  and  an  expression  about  his  countenance,  sickly  and 
sallow  though  it  was,  so  melancholy,  mild,  and  intel- 
ligent that  I  could  not  help  viewing  him  with  pecu- 
liar interest. 

"  I  was  afraid,  my  friend,  I  should  have  missed 
you,"  said  I,  in  a  kind  tone,  "  as  I  was  on  the  point 
of  going  out." — "  I  heard  your  carriage  drive  up  to 
the  door,  doctor,  and  shall  not  detain  you  more  than 
a  few  moments ;  nay,  I  will  call  to-morrow,  if  that 
would  be  more  convenient,"  he  replied,  faintly,  sud- 
denly pressing  his  hand  to  his  side,  as  though  the 
effort  of  speaking  occasioned  him  pain.  I  assured 
him  I  had  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  his  service,  and 
begged  he  would  proceed  at  once  to  state  the  nature 
of  his  complaint.  He  detailed — what  I  had  antici- 
pated from  his  appearance — all  the  symptoms  of  a 
very  advanced  stage  of  pulmonary  consumption. 
He  expressed  himself  in  very  select  and  forcible 
language ;  and  once  or  twice,  when  at  a  loss  for 
what  he  conceived  an  adequate  expression  in  Eng- 
lish, chose  such  an  appropriate  Latin  phrase,  that 
the  thought  perpetually  suggested  itself  to  me,  while 
he  was  speaking — "a  starved  scholar P^ — He  made 
not  the  most  distant  allusion  to  poverty,  but  confined 
himself  to  the  leading  symptoms  of  his  indisposition. 
I  determined,  however,  {hand  prateritorum  imtne' 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  53 

mor!)  to  ascertain  his  circumstances,  with  a  view,  if 
possible,  of  relieving  them.  I  asked  if  he  ate  animal 
food  with' relish, — enjoyed  his  dinner, — whether  his 
meals  were  regular.  He  coloured,  and  hesitated  a 
little,  for  I  put  the  question  searchingly ;  and  replied, 
"svith  some  embarrassment,  that  he  did  not  certainly 
then  eat  regularly,  nor  enjoy  his  food  when  he  did. 
I  soon  found  that  he  was  in  very  straitened  circum- 
stances ;  that,  in  short,  he  was  sinking  rapidly  under 
the  pressure  of  want  and  harassing  anxiety,  which 
alone  had  accelerated,  if  not  wholly  induced,  his 
present  illness ;  and  that  all  he  had  to  expect  from 
medical  aid  was  a  little  alleviation.  I  prescribed  a 
few  simple  medicines,  and  then  asked  him  in  what 
part  of  the  town  he  resided. 

"  I  am  afraid,  doctor,"  said  he,  modestly,  "  I  shall 
be  unable  to  afford  your  visiting  me  at  my  own  lodg- 
ings. I  will  occasionally  call  on  you  here,  as  a 
morning  patient,"  and  he  proffered  me  half-a-guinea. 
The  conviction  that  it  was  probably  the  ver>'  last  he 
had  in  the  world,  and  a  keen  recollection  of  similar 
scenes  in  my  own  histor}',  almost  brought  the  tears 
into  my  eyes.  I  refused  the  fee,  of  course;  and 
prevailed  on  him  to  let  me  set  him  down,  as  I  was 
driving  close  past  his  residence.  He  seemed  over- 
whelmed with  gratitude ;  and  with  a  blush  hinted 
that  he  was  "  not  quite  in  carriage  costume."  He 
lived  in  one  of  the  small  streets  leading  from  May- 
fair  ;  and  after  having  made  a  note  in  my  tablets  of 
his  name  and  number,  I  set  him  down,  promising  him 
an  early  call. 

The  clammy  pressure  of  his  wasted  fingers,  as  I 
shook  his  hand  at  parting,  remained  with  me  all  that 
day.  I  could  not  dismiss  from  m}'  mind  the  wild 
and  sorrowful  countenance  of  this  young  man,  go 
where  I  would;  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  mention- 
ing the  incident  to  a  most  excellent  and  generous 
nobleman,  whom  I  was  then  attending,  and  solicit- 
ing' his  assistance,  but  the  thought  that  it  was  pre- 
E2 


54  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

mature  checked  me.  There  might  be  something 
unworthy  in  the  young  man ;  he  might  possibly  be 
an — impostor.  These  were  hard  thoughts — chiUing 
and  unworthy  suspicions,  but  I  could  not  resist  them ; 
alas !  an  eighteen  years'  intercourse  with  a  deceitful 
world  has  alone  taught  me  how  to  entertain  them ! 

As  my  wife  dined  a  little  out  of  town  that  evening, 
I  hastily  swallowed  a  solitary  meal,  and  set  out  in 
quest  of  my  morning  patient.  With  some  difficulty 
I  found  the  house ;  it  was  the  meanest  and  in  the 
meanest  street  I  had  visited  for  months.  I  knocked 
at  the  door,  which  was  open,  and  surromided  by  a 
babbling  throng  of  dirty  children.  A  slatternly 
woman,  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  answered  my  sum- 
mons.    Mr. ,  she  said,  lived  there,  in  the  top 

floor ;  but  he  was  just  gone  out  for  a  few  moments, 
she  supposed,  "  to  get  a  mouthful  of  victuals,  but  I 
was  w^elcome  to  go  up  and  wait  for  him,  since  there 
was  not  much  to  make  away  with,  howsoever,"  said 
the  rude  and  vulgar  creature.  One  of  her  children 
led  me  up  the  narrow  dirty  staircase,  and  having 
ushered  me  into  the  room,  left  me  to  my  meditations. 
A  wretched  hole  it  was  in  which  I  was  sitting !  The 
evening  sun  streamed  in  discoloured  rays  through 
the  unwashed  panes,  here  and  there  mended  with 
brown  paper,  and  sufficed  to  show  me  that  the  only 
furniture  consisted  of  a  miserable,  curtainless  bed 
(the  disordered  clothes  showing  that  t!ie  weary  limbs 
of  the  wretched  occupant  had  but  recently  left  it) — 
three  old  rush-bottomed  chairs — and  a  rickety  deal 
table,  on  which  were  scattered  several  pages  of 
manuscript — a  letter  or  two— pens,  ink,  and  a  few 
books.  There  was  no  chest  of  drawers — nor  did  I 
see  any  thing  likely  to  serve  as  a  substitute.     Poor 

Mr. probably  carried  about  with  him  all  he  had 

in  the  world !  There  was  a  small  sheet  of  writing 
paper  pinned  over  the  mantelpiece  (if  such  it  de- 
served to  be  called),  which  I  gazed  at  with  a  sigh ; 
it  bore  simply  the  outline  of  a  coffin,  with  Mr.  - — *s 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  55 

initials,  and  "  obiit ,  18—,"  evidently  in  his  own 

handwriting.  Curious  to  see  the  kind  of  books  he  pre- 
ferred, I  took  them  up  and  examined  them.  There 
were — if  I  recollect  right — a  small  Amsterdam  edition  " 
of  Plautus — a  Horace — a  much  befingered  copy  of 
Aristophanes — a  neat  pocket  edition  of  ^Eschylus — 
a  small  copy  of  the  works  of  Lactantius — and  two  odd 
volumes  of  English  books.  I  had  no  intention  of 
being  impertinently  inquisitive,  but  my  eye  acci- 
dentally lit  on  the  uppermost  manuscript,  and  seeing 
it  to  be  in  the  Greek  character,  I  took  it  up,  and 
found  a  few  verses  of  Greek  sapphics,  entitled — 
'EnriivrvKTa  TE'XcvTaiav — evidently  the  recent  composi- 
tion of  Mr. .     He  entered  the  room  as  I  was 

lajing  dowTi  the  paper,  and  started  at  seeing  a 
stranger,  for  it  seems  the  people  of  the  house  had  not 
taken  the  trouble  to  inform  him  I  was  waiting.  On 
discovering  who  it  was,  he  bowed  politely,  and  gave 
me  his  hand ;  but  the  sudden  agitation  my  presence 
had  occasioned  deprived  him  of  utterance.  I  thought 
I  could  almost  hear  the  palpitation  of  his  heart.  T 
brought  him  to  a  chair,  and  begged  him  to  be  calm. 

"  You  are  not  worse,  Mr. ,  I  hope,  since  I  saw 

you  this  morning  T"  I  inquired.  He  whispered 
almost  inarticulately,  holding  his  hand  to  his  left 
side,  that  he  was  always  worse  in  the  evenings.  I  felt 
his  pulse ;  it  beat  130 !  I  discovered  that  he  had  gone 
out  for  the  purpose  of  trying  to  get  employment  in  a 
neighbouring  printing-office,  but  having  failed,  was 
returned  in  a  state  of  deeper  depression  than  usual. 
The  perspiration  rolled  from  his  brow  almost  faster 
than  he  could  wipe  it  away.  I  sat  by  him  for 
nearly  two  minutes,  holding  his  hand,  without  utter- 
ing a  word,  for  I  was  deeply  affected.  At  length  I 
begged  he  would  forgive  my  inquiring  how  it  wis 
that  a  young  man  of  talent  and  education  like  him- 
self could  be  reduced  to  a  state  of  such  utter  destitu- 
tion? WTiile  I  was  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  sud- 
denly fell  from  his  chair  in  a  swoon.    The  exertion 


56  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

of  walking,  the  pressure  of  disappointment,  and,  I 
fear,  the  almost  unbroken  fast  of  the  day,  had  com- 
pletely prostrated  the  small  remains  of  his  strength. 
Wlien  he  had  a  little  revived,  I  succeeded  in  laying 
him  on  the  bed,  and  instantly  summoned  the  woman 
of  the  house.  After  some  time,  she  sauntered  lazily 
to  the  door,  and  asked  me  what  I  wanted.  "  Are  you 
the  person  that  attends  on  this  gentleman,  my  good 
woman  ]"  I  inquired. 

"  Marry  come  up,  sir !"  she  replied  in  a  loud  tone. 
"  I've  no  manner  of  cause  for  attending  on  him,  not 
I ;  he  ought  to  attend  on  himself;  and  as  for  his  being 
a  gentleman^''''  she  continued,  with  an  insolent  sneer, 
for  which  I  felt  inclined  to  throw  her  down  stairs, 
"  not  a  stiver  of  his  money  have  I  seen  for  this  three 

weeks  for  his  rent,  and" Seeing  the  fluent 

virago  was  warming,  and  approaching  close  to  my 
unfortunate  patient's  bedside,  I  stopped  her  short  by 
putting  half-a-guinea  into  her  hand,  and  directing 
her  to  purchase  a  bottle  of  port  wine ;  at  the  same 
time  hinting,  that  if  she  conducted  herself  properly 
I  would  see  her  rent  paid  myself.     I  then  shut  the 

door,  and  resumed  my  seat  by  Mr. ,  who  was 

trembling  violently  all  over  with  agitation,  and  en- 
deavoured to  soothe  him.  The  more  I  said,  how- 
ever, and  the  kinder  were  my  tones,  the  more  was 
he  affected.  At  length  he  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears, 
and  continued  weeping  for  some  time  like  a  child. 
T  saw  it  was  hysterical,  and  that  it  was  best  to  let 
his  feelings  have  their  full  course.  His  nervous  ex- 
citement at  last  gradually  subsided,  and  he  began  to 
converse  with  tolerable  coolness. 

"  Doctor,"  he  faltered,  "  your  conduct  is  very — 
very  noble — it  must  be  disinterested,"  pointing,  with 
a  bitter  air,  to  the  wretched  room  in  which  we  were 
sitting. 

"  I  feel  sure,  Mr.  -  -,  that  you  have  done  nothing 
to  merit  your  present  misfortunes,"  I  replied,  with  a 
serious  and  inquiring  air. 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  57 

"  Yes — yes,  1  have ! — I  have  indulged  in  wild  am- 
bitious hopes,— lived  in  absurd  dreams  of  future  great- 
ness,— been  educated  beyond  my  fortunes, — and 
formed  tastes,  and  cherished  feelings,  incompatible 
with  the  station  it  seems  I  was  born  to — beggary  or 
daily  labour !"  was  his  answer,  with  as  much  vehe- 
mence as  his  weakness  would  allow. 

"  But,  Mr. ,  your  friends — your  relatives — they 

cannot  be  apprized  of  your  situation." 

"Alas,  doctor,  friends  I  have  none — unless  you 
will  permit  me  to  name  the  last  and  noblest,  your- 
self; relatives,  several." 

"  And  they,  of  course,  do  not  know  of  your  illness 
and  straitened  circumstances  1" 

"  They  do,  doctor,  and  kindly  assure  me  I  brought 
it  on  myself.  To  do  them  justice,  however, 
they  could  not,  I  believe,  efficiently  help  me,  if  they 
would." 

"  Why,  have  you  offended  them,  Mr. 1    Have 

they  cast  you  off?" 

"Not  avowedly — not  in  so  many  words.  They 
have  simply  refused  to  receive  or  answer  any  more 
of  my  letters.  Possibly  I  may  have  offended  them, 
but  am  content  to  meet  them  hereafter,  and  try  the 

justice  of  the  case — there"  said  Mr. ,  solemnly 

pointing  upwards.  "  Well  I  know,  and  so  do  you, 
doctor,  that  my  days  on  earth  are  very  few,  and 
likely  to  be  very  bitter  also."  It  was  in  vain  I 
pressed  him  to  tell  me  who  his  relatives  were,  and 
suffer  me  to  solicit  their  personal  attendance  on  his 
last  moments.  "  It  is  altogether  useless,  doctor,  to 
ask  me  further,"  said  he,  raising  himself  a  little  in 
bed ;  "  my  father  and  mother  are  both  dead,  and  no 
power  on  earth  shall  extract  from  rfte  a  syllable 
further.  It  is  hard,"  he  continued,  bursting  again 
into  tears,  "  if  I  must  die  amid  their  taunts  and 
reproaches."  I  felt  quite  at  a  loss  what  to  say  to 
all  this.  There  was  something  very  singular,  if  not 
reprehensible,  in  this  manner  of  alluding  to  his  rela- 


58  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

tives,  which  led  me  to  fear  that  he  was  by  no  means 
free  from  blame.  Had  I  not  felt  myself  very  deli- 
cately situated,  and  dreaded  even  the  possibility  of 
hurting  his  morbidly  irritable  feelings,  I  felt  inclined 
to  have  asked  him  how  he  thought  of  existing  with- 
out their  aid,  especially  in  his  forlorn  and  helpless 
state  ;  having-  neither  friends  nor  the  means  of 
obtaining  them.  1  thought,  also,  that  short  as  had 
been  my  intimacy  with  him,  I  had  discerned  symp- 
toms of  a  certain  obstinacy  and  haughty  imperious- 
ness  of  temper  which  would  sufficiently  account,  if 
not  for  occasioning,  at  least  for  widening,  any  un- 
happy breach  which  might  have  occurred  in  his 
family.  But  Avhat  was  to  be  done  1  I  could  not  let 
him  starve ;  as  I  had  voluntarily  stepped  in  to  his 
assistance,  I  determined  to  make  his  last  moments 
easy — at  least  as  far  as  lay  in  my  power. 

A  little  to  anticipate  the  course  of  my  narrative,  I 
may  here  state  what  little  information  concerning 
him  was  elicited  in  the  course  of  our  various  inter- 
views. His  father  and  mother  had  left  Ireland,  their 
native  place,  early,  and  gone  to  Jamaica,  where  they 
lived  as  slave-superintendents.  They  left  their  only 
son  to  the  care  of  the  wife's  brother-in-law,  who  put 
him  to  school,  where  he  much  distinguished  himself. 
On  the  faith  of  it  he  contrived  to  get  to  the  college 
in  Dublin,  where  he  stayed  two  years :  and  then,  in 
a  confident  reliance  on  his  own  talents,  and  the  sum 
of  50/.  which  was  sent  him  from  Jamaica,  with  the 
intelligence  of  the  death  of  both  his  parents  in  im- 
poverished circumstances, he  had  come  up  to  London, 
it  seems,  with  no  definite  end  in  view.  Here  he  had 
continued  for  about  two  years;  but  in  addition  to 
the  failure  uf  his  health,  all  his  eiforts  to  establish 
himself  proved  abortive.  He  contrived  to  glean  a 
scanty  sum,  God  knows  how,  which  was  gradually 
lessening  at  a  time  when  his  impaired  health  rather 
required  that  his  resources  should  be  augmented. 
He  had  no  friends  in  respectable  life,  whose  influence 


DIARY   OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  59 

or  wealth  might  have  been  serviceable ;  and  at  the 
time  he  called  on  me,  he  had  not  more  in  the  world 
than  the  solitary  half-guinea  he  proffered  to  me  as  a 
fee.  I  never  learned  the  names  of  any  of  his  rela- 
tives ;  but  from  several  things  occasionally  dropped 
in  the  heat  of  conversation,  it  was  clear  there  must 
have  been  unhappy  differences. 

To  return,  however.  As  the  evening  was  far  ad- 
vancing, and  I  had  one  or  two  patients  yet  to  visit,  I 
began  to  think  of  taking  my  departure.  1  enjoined 
him  strictly  to  keep  his  bed  till  I  saw  him  again,  to 
preserve  as  calm  and  equable  a  frame  of  mind  as 
possible,  and  to  dismiss  all  anxiety  for  the  future,  as 
I  would  gladly  supply  his  present  necessities,  and 
send  him  a  civil  and  attentive  nurse.  He  tried  to 
thank  me,  but  his  emotions  choked  his  utterance. 
He  grasped  my  hand  with  convulsive  energ>\  His 
eye  spoke  eloquently — but,  alas !  it  shone  with  the 
fierce  and  unnatural  lustre  of  consumption,  as  though, 
I  have  often  thought  in  such  cases,  the  conscious 
soul  was  glowing  with  the  reflected  light  of  its 
kindred  element  —  eternity.  I  knew  it  was  im- 
possible for  him  to  survive  many  days,  from  several 
unequivocal  symptoms  of  what  is  called,  in  common 
language,  a  galloping  consumption.  I  was  as  good 
as  my  word,  and  sent  him  a  nurse  (the  mother  of 
one  of  my  servants),  who  was  charged  to  pay  him 
the  utmost  attention  in  her  power.  My  wife  also 
sent  him  a  little  bed-furniture,  linen,  preserves,  jel- 
lies, and  other  small  matters  of  that  sort.  I  visited 
him  every  evening,  and  found  liim  on  each  occasion 
verifying  my  apprehensions,  for  he  was  sinking 
rapidly.  His  mental  energies,  however,  seemed  to 
increase  in  an  inverse  ratio  with  the  decline  of  his 
physical  powers.  His  conversation  was  animated, 
various,  and,  at  times,  enchainingly  interesting.  I 
have  sometimes  sat  at  his  bedside  for  several  hours 
together,  wondering  how  one  so  young  (he  w^as  not 
more  than  two  or  three-and-twenty)  could  have  ac- 


60  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

quired  so  much  information.  He  spoke  with  spirit 
and  justness  on  the  leading  pohtical  topics  of  the  day ; 
and  I  particularly  recollect  his  making-  some  very 
noble  reflections  on  the  character  and  exploits  of 
Buonaparte,  who  was  then  blazing  in  the  zenith  of  his 
glory.  Still,  however,  the  current  of  his  thoughts 
and  language  was  frequently  tinged  with  the  enthu- 
siasm and  extravagance  of  delirium.  Of  this  he 
seemed  himself  conscious ;  for  he  would  sometimes 
suddenly  stop,  and  pressing  his  hand  to  his  forehead, 
exclaim,  "Doctor,  doctor,  I  am  failing  here — hereP^ 
He  acknowledged  that  he  had  from  his  childhood 
given  himself  up  to  the  dominion  of  ambition ;  and  that 
his  whole  life  had  been  spent  in  the  most  extravagant 
and  visionary  expectations.  He  would  smile  bitterly 
when  he  recounted  some  of  what  he  justly  stigma- 
tized as  his  insane  projects.  "  The  objects  of  my 
ambition,"  he  said,  "  have  been  vague  and  general ; 
I  never  knew  exactly  where  or  what  I  would  be. 
Had  my  powers,  such  as  they  are,  been  concentrated 
on  one  point — had  I  formed  a  more  just  and  modest 
estimate  of  my  abilities,  I  might  possibly  have  be- 
come something.*  *  *  Besides,  doctor,  I  had  no  money 
— no  solid  substratum  to  build  upon — there  was  the 
rotten  •  point ! — Oh,  doctor,"  he  continued,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  "  if  I  could  but  have  seen  these  things 
three  years  ago  as  I  see  them  now,  I  might  at  tliis 
moment  have  been  a  sober  and  respectable  member 
of  society ;  but  now  I  am  dying  a  hanger-on — a  fool 
— a  beggar!"  and  he  burst  into  tears.  "  You,  doctor," 
he  presently  continued,  "  are  accustomed,  I  suppose, 
to  listen  to  these  death-bed  repinings — these  soul- 
scourgings — these  wailings  over  a  badly-spent  life ! 
— Oh,  yes — as  I  am  nearing  eternity,  I  seem  to  look 
at  things — at  my  own  mind  and  heart  especially — 
tlirough  the  medium  of  a  strange,  searching,  un- 
couthly  light.  Oh,  how  many,  many  things  it  makes 
distinct,  whicli  I  would  fain  have  forgotten  for  ever! 
Do  you  recollect  the  terrible  language  of  Scripture, 


DIARY   OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  61 

doctor,  which  compares  the  human  breast  to  a  cage 
of  unclean  birds  T — I  left  him  that  evening  deeply 
convinced  of  the  compulsory  truths  he  had  uttered; 
I  never  thought  so  seriously  before.  It  is  some 
Scotch  divine  who  has  said,  that  one  death-bed 
preaches  a  more  startling  sermon  than  a  bench  of 

bishops. 

******** 

Mr. was  an  excellent  and  thorough  Greek 

scholar,  perfectly  well  versed  in  the  Greek  dramatists, 
and  passionately  fond,  in  particular,  of  Sophocles.  1 
recollect  his  reciting,  one  evening,  wdth  great  force 
and  feeling,  the  touching  exclamation  of  the  chorus 
in  the  CEdipus  Tyraimus — 

SI  -OTTOi — dvapl&fia  yap 
(Pipu)  Tzfjuara, 
vocei  Of  /iot  TodTrajffrdXof, 
qy6'  evi  (poovriooi  eyx'^i 

&c.  &;c.,  167-171. 

— which,  he  said,  was  never  absent  from  his  mind, 
sleeping  or  waking.  I  once  asked  him  if  he  did  not 
regret  having  devoted  his  life  almost  exclusively  to 
the  study  of  the  classics.  He  replied,  with  enthu- 
siasm, "  No,  doctor — no,  no  !  I  should  be  an  mgrate 
if  I  did.  How  can  I  regret  having  lived  in  constant 
converse,  through  their  works,  with  the  gieatest  and 
noblest  men  that  ever  breathed !  I  have  lived  in  Ely- 
sium— have  breathed  the  celestial  air  of  those  hal- 
lowed plains,  while  engaged  in  the  study  of  the  phi- 
losophy and  poetry'  of  Greece  and  Rome.  Yes,  it  is 
a  consolation  even  for  my  bitter  and  premature 
death-bed,  to  think  that  my  mind  will  quit  this 
wTetched,  diseased,  unworthy  body,  imbued  with  the 
refinement — redolent  of  the  eternal  freshness  and 
beauty  of  the  most  exquisite  poetry  and  philosophy 

*  Ah  me !  I  groan  beneath  the  press'ire  of  innumerable  sorrows ; 
truly  my  substance  is  languishing  away,  nor  can  I  devise  any  means  of 
bettering  my  condition,  or  discover  any  source  of  consolation. 

F 


62  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

the  world  ever  saw !  With  my  faculties  quickened 
and  strengthened,  I  shall  go  confidently,  and  claim 
kindred  with  the  great  ones  of  Eternity.  They  know 
I  love  their  works — have  consumed  all  the  oil  of  my 
life  in  their  study,  and  they  will  welcome  their  son 

— their  disciple !"    Ill  as  he  was,  Mr. uttered 

these  sentiments  (as  nearly  as  1  can  recollect,  in 
the  very  words  I  have  given)  with  an  energy,  an 
enthusiasm,  and  an  eloquence  which  I  never  saw 
surpassed.  He  faltered  suddenly,  however,  from  this 
lofty  pitch  of  excitement,  and  complained  bitterly 
that  his  devotion  to  ancient  literature  had  engendered 
a  morbid  sensibility,  which  had  rendered  him  totally 
unfit  for  the  ordinary  business  of  life  or  intermixture 
with  society.        *        #        * 

Often  I  found  him  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  read- 
ing his  favourite  play,  the  Prometheus  Vinctus  of 
-^schylus,  while  his  pale  and  wasted  features  glowed 
with  delighted  enthusiasm.  He  told  me  that  in  his 
estimation  there  was  an  air  of  grandeur  and  romance 
about  that  play,  such  as  was  not  equalled  by  any  of 
the  productions  of  the  other  Greek  dramatists ;  and 
that  the  opening  dialogue  was  peculiarly  impressive 
and  affecting.  He  had  committed  to  memory  nearl}'- 
three-fourths  of  the  whole  play!  I  on  one  occasion 
asked  him,  how  it  came  to  pass  that  a  person  of  his 
superior  classical  attainments  had  not  obtained  some 
tolerably  lucrative  engagements  as  an  usher  or  tutor  % 
He  answered,  with  rather  a  haughty  air,  that  he 
would  rather  have  broken  stones  on  the  highway. 

"To  hear,"  said  he,  " the  mxagnificent  language 
of  Greece — the  harmonious  cadences  of  the  Romans, 
mangled  and  disfigured  by  stupid  lads  and  duller 
ushers — oh,  it  would  have  been  such  a  profanation 
as  the  sacred  groves  of  old  suffered,  when  their 
solemn  silence  was  disturbed  by  a  rude  unhallowed 
throng  of  Bacchanalians.  I  should  have  expired, 
doctor !"  I  told  him,  I  could  not  help  lamenting  such 
an  absurd  and  morbid  sensitiveness — iat  which  he 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  63 

seemed  exceedingly  piqued.  He  possibly  thought  I 
should  rather  have  admired  than  reprobated  the  lofty 
tone  he  assumed !  I  asked  him  if  the  stations  of 
which  he  spoke  with  such  supercilious  contempt  had 
not  been  joyfully  occupied  by  some  of  the  greatest 
scholars  that  had  ever  lived?  He  replied  simply, 
with  a  cold  air,  that  it  was  his  misfortune — not  his 
fault.  He  told  me,  however,  that  his  classical  ac- 
quirements had  certainly  been  capable  of  something 
like  a  profitable  emplo^nnent;  for  that  about  two 
months  before  he  had  called  on  me,  he  had  nearly 
come  to  terms  with  a  bookseller  for  publishing  a 
poetical  version  of  the  comedies  of  Aristophanes; 
that  he  had  nearly  completed  one — the  ne<i>eaai,  if  I 
recollect  right— when  the  great  difficulty  of  the  task, 
and  the  wretched  remuneration  offered,  so  dispirited 
him,  that  he  threw  it  aside  in  disgust.*  His  only 
means  of  subsistence  had  been  the  sorry  pay  of  an 
occasional  reader  for  the  press,  as  -well  as  a  contri- 
butor to  the  columns  of  a  daily  paper.  He  had  parted 
with  aljpiost  the  whole  of  his  slender  stock  of  books, 
his  watch,  and  all  his  clothes,  except  what  he  wore 
when  he  called  on  me.     "  And  you  never  try  any  of 

*  Among  his  papers  I  found  the  following  spirited  and  close  version 
of  one  of  the  choral  odes  in  the  Nubes,  commencing, 

'Afi(pi  (101  aire  'iol(?  ava^ 
ArjXeL,  &c. 

"  Thee,  too,  great  Phnebus,  I  invoke, 

Thou  Delian  King, 
Who  dwell'st  on  Cynthia's  lofty  rock! 

Thy  passage  hither  wing, 
Blest  Goddess  I  whom  Ephesian  splendours  hold 

In  temple  bright  with  gold. 
Mid  Lydian  maidens  nobly  worshipping  ! 
And  thee,  our  native  deity, 

Pallas,  our  city's  guardian,  thou  I 

Who  wield'st  the  dreadful  ^gis.    Thee, 
Thee,  too,  gay  Bacchus,  from  Parnassian  height, 

Ruddy  with  festive  torches'  glow — 
To  crown  the  sacred  choir,  I  thee  invite  I" 

Those  who  are  conversant  with  the  original  will  perceive  that  many  of 
the  difQcolt  Greek  expressions  are  rendered  into  literal  English. 


64  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

the  magazines?"  I  inquired;  "for  they  afford  to 
many  young  men  of  talent  a  fair  livelihood."  He 
said  he  had  indeed  struggled  hard  to  gain  a  footing 
in  one  of  the  popular  periodicals,  but  that  his  com- 
munications were  invariably  returned,  "  with  polite 
acknowledgments."  One  of  these  notes  I  saw,  and 
have  now  in  my  possession.     It  was  thus : — 

"Mr.  M' begs  to  re  turn,  the  enclosed,  ^Re- 
marks on  English  Versions  oj" Euripides,''  with  many 

thanks  for  the  writer's  polite  offer  of  it  to  the  E 

M ;  but  fears  that,  though  an  able  perform- 
ance, it  is  not  exactly  suited  for  the  readers  of  the 
E M ." 

To  A.  A. 

A  series  of  siniilar  disappointments,  and  the  con- 
sequent poverty  and  embarrassment  into  which  he 
sunk,  had  gradually  undermined  a  constitution  natu- 
rally feeble ;  and  he  told  me,  with  much  agitation, 
that  had  it  not  been  for  the  trifling  but  timely  assist- 
ance of  myself  and  family,  he  saw  no  means  of 
escaping  literal  starvation!  Could  I  help  .sympa- 
thizing deeply  with  him?  Alas!  his  misfortunes 
were  very  nearly  paralleled  by  my  own.  While 
listening  to  his  melancholy  details,  I  seemed  living 
over  again  the  first  four  wretched  years  of  my  pro- 
fessional career. 

******** 

I  must  hasten,  however,  to  the  closing  scene.    I 

had  left  word  with  the  nurse  that  when  Mr. 

appeared  dying,  I  should  be  instantly  summoned. 
About  five  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the  6th  of  July, 

18 — ,  I  received  a  message  from  Mr. himself, 

saying  that  he  wished  to  breathe  his  last  in  my  pre- 
sence, as  the  only  friend  he  had  on  earth.  Unavoid- 
able and  pressing  professional  engagements  detained 
me  until  half-past  six;  and  it  was  seven  o'clock 
before  I  reached  his  bedside. 

"  Lord,  Lord,  doctor,  poor  Mr. is  dying,  sure !" 

exclaimed  the  woman  of  the  house,  as  she  opened 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  65 

the  door.  "  Mrs.  Jones  says  he  has  been  picking  and 
clearing  the  bedclothes  awfully,  so  he  must  be 
dying!"*  On  entering  the  room,  I  found  he  had 
dropped  asleep.  The  nurse  told  me  he  had  been 
wandering  a  good  deal  in  his  mind.  I  asked  what 
he  had  talked  about T  ^'•Laming,  doctor,"  she  re- 
plied, "and  a  proud  young  lady."  I  sat  down  by 
his  bedside.  I  saw  the  dews  of  death  were  stealing 
rapidly  over  him.  His  eyes,  which  were  naturally 
veiy  dark  and  piercing,  were  now  far  sunk  into  their 
sockets ;  his  cheeks  were  hollow,  and  his  hair  matted 
with  perspiration  over  his  damp  and  palhd  forehead. 
While  I  was  gazing  silently  on  the  melancholy  spec- 
tacle, and  reflecting  what  great  but  undisciplined 
powers  of  mind  were  about  soon  to  be  disunited  from 

the  body,  Mr. opened  his  eyes,  and  seeing  me, 

said,  in  a  low,  but  clear  and  steady  tone  of  voice, 
"  Doctor— the  last  act  of  the  tragedy !"  He  gave  me 
his  hand.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  lift  it  into  mine. 
I  could  not  speak — the  tears  w^ere  nearly  gushing 
forth.     I  felt  as  if  I  were  gazing  on  my  dying  son. 

"I  have  been  dreaming,  doctor,  since  you" went," 
said  he ;  "  and  what  do  you  think  about  ?  I  thought 
I  had  squared  the  circle,  and  was  to  perish  for  ever 
for  my  discover>\" 

*  This  verj'  prevalent  but  absurd  no:  ion  is  not  confined  to  the  vulgar ; 
and  as  I  have  in  the  course  of  my  practice  met  with  hundreds  of  re- 
spectable and  intelligent  people,  who  have  held  that  a  patient's  ^'picking 
and  clearing  the  bedclothes"  is  a  symptom  of  death,  and  who  conse- 
quently view  it  with  a  kind  of  superstitious  horror,  I  cannot  refrain  from 
explaining  the  philosophy  of  it  to  the  unprotessional  readers  of  this 
volume  in  the  simple  and  satisfactory  words  of  Mr.  C.  Bell : — 

"It  is  ver}- common,"  he  says,  "to  see  the  patient  picking  the  bed- 
clothes, or  catching  at  the  empty  air.  This  proceeds  from  an  appearance 
of  motes  OT^fties  passinghtfore  the  eyes,  and  is  occasioned  by  an  affection 
of  the  retina  producing  in  it  a  sensation  similar  to  that  produced  by  the 
impression  ot  images  ;  and  what  is  deficient  in  sensation  the  hnagina- 
tion  supplies:  for  although  the  resemblance  between  those  diseased 
affections  of  the  retina  and  the  idea  conveyed  to  the  brain  may  be  very 
remote,  yet  by  that  sUght  resemblance  the  idea  usually  associated  with 
the  sensation'  will  be  excited  in  the  mind."— BfZZ's  Jnatomy,  vol.  iii. 
p.  57,  58. 

The  secret  lies  in  a  disordered  circulation  of  the  blood  forcing  the  red 
globules  into  the  minute  vessels  of  the  retina. 

F2 


66  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

"  I  hope,  Mr. ,"  I  replied,  in  a  serious  tone,  and 

with  something  of  displeasure  in  my  manner—"  I 
hope  tliat  at  this  awful  moment,  you  have  more 
suitable  and  consolatory  thoughts  to  occupy  your 
mind  with  than  those  ?" 

He  sighed.  "  The  clergyman  you  were  so  good 
as  to  send  me,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  "  was  here 
this  afternoon.  He  is  a  good  man,  I  dare  say,  but 
weak,  and  has  his  head  stuffed  with  the  quibbles  of 
the  schools.  He  wanted  to  discuss  the  question  of 
free  will  with  a  dying  man,  doctor !" 

"  I  hope  he  did  not  leave  without  administering 
the  ordinances  of  religion  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  He  read  me  some  of  the  church  prayers,  which 
were  exquisitely  touching  and  beautiful,  and  the  fif- 
teenth chapter  of  Corinthians,  which  is  very  sublime. 
He  could  not  help  giving  me  a  rehearsal  of  w^hat  he 
was  shortly  to  repeat  over  my  grave !"  exclaimed 
the  dying  man,  with  a  melancholy  smile.  I  felt  some 
irritation  at  the  light  tone  of  his  remarks,  but  con- 
cealed it. 

"You  received  the  sacrament,  I  hope,  Mr. ?" 

He  paused  a  few  moments,  and  his  brow  was 
clouded.  "  No,  doctor,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  declined 
it"— 

"  Declined  the  sacrament !"  I  exclaimed  with  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes — but,  dear  doctor,  I  beg — I  entreat  you  not 

to  ask  me  about  it  any  further,"  replied  Mr. , 

gloomily,  and  lapsed  into  a  fit  of  abstraction  for 
some  moments.  Unnoticed  by  him,  I  despatched 
the  nurse  for  another  clergyman,  an  excellent  and 
learned  man,  who  was  my  intimate  friend.     I  was 

gazing  earnestly  on  Mr. ,  as  he  lay  with  closed 

eyes ;  and  was  surprised  to  see  the  tears  trickling 
from  them. 

"  Mr. ,  you  have  nothing,  I  hope,  on  your 

mind,  to  render  your  last  moments  unhappy?"  I 
asked,  in  a  gentle  tone. 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYsICIaN.  67 

"  No — nothing  material,"  he  replied,  with  a  deep 
si^h ;  continuing,  with  his  eyes  closed,  "  I  was  only- 
thinking  w*hat  a  bitter  thing  it  is  to  be  struck  down 
so  soon  from  among  the  bright  throng  of  the  living 
— to  leave  this  fair,  tliis  beautiful  world,  after  so 
short  and  sorrowful  a  sojourn.  Oh,  it  is  hard !"  He 
shortly  opened  his  eyes.  His  agitation  had  appa- 
rently passed  away,  and  delirium  was  hovering  over 
and  disarranging  his  thoughts. 

"  Doctor,  doctor,  what  a  strange  passage  that  is," 
said  he  suddenly,  startling  me  with  his  altered 
voice,  and  the  dreamy,  thoughtful  expression  of  his 
eyes,  "in  the  chorus  of  the  Medea — 

'Avoj  -orafidv  kpuiv  xajpoyct  -a/at 
Kal  SiKa  Kui  Tzdvra  TrdAtv  a~pi<btTai'* 

Is  there  not  something  very  mysterious  and  romantic 
about  these  lines  ?  I  could  never  exactly  understand 
what  was  meant  by  them."  Finding  I  continued 
silent, — for  I  did  not  wish  to  encourage  his  indulging 
in  a  train  of  thought  so  foreign  to  his  situation, — he 
kept  murmuring  at  intervals,  metrically, 

aiw  -OTaiLdvlcpiiiVi 

in  a  most  melanchol}%  monotonous  tone.  He  then 
wandered  on  from  one  topic  of  classical  literature  to 
another,  till  he  suddenly  stopped  short,  and  turning 
to  me,  said,  "  Doctor,  I  am  raving  veiy  absurdly.  I 
feel  I  am ;  but  I  camiot  dismiss  from  my  thoughts, 
even  though  I  know  I  am  dying,  the  subjects  about 
which  my  mind  has  been  occupied  nearly  all  my  life 
through. — Oh !"  changing  the  subject  abruptly,  "  tell 
me,  doctor,  do  those  who  die  of  my  disorder  gene- 
rally continue  in  the  possession  of  their  intellects  to 
the  last  ]"  I  told  him  I  thought  they  generally  did. 
"  Then  I  shall  bum  brightly  to  the  last !  Thank 
God !— And  yet,"  with  a  shudder,  "it  is  sliocking, 

*  Eurip.  Med.  411-13. 


68  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

too,  to  find  one's  self  gradually  ceasing  to  exist. — 
Doctor,  I  should  recover,  I  am  sure  I  should,  if  yon 
were  to  bleed  me,"  said  he — ^his  intellects  were 
wandering. 

The  nurse  now  returned,  and,  to  my  vexation,  un- 
accompanied by  Dr. ,  who  had  gone  that  morning 

into  the  country.  I  did  not  send  for  any  one  else. 
His  frame  of  mind  was  peculiar,  and  very  unsatis- 
factory; but  I  thought  it,  on  the  whole,  better  not  to 
disturb  or  irritate  him  by  alluding  to  a  subject  he 
evidently  disliked.  I  ordered  candles  to  be  brought, 
as  it  was  now  nearly  nine  o'clock.  "  Doctor,"  said 
the  dying  young  man,  in  a  feeble  tone,  "  I  think  you 
will  find  a  copy  of  Lactantius  lying  on  my  table. 
He  has  been  a  great  favourite  with  me.  May  I 
trouble  you  to  read  me  a  passage — the  eighth  chapter 
of  the  seventh  book — on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  1 
I  should  like  to  die  thoroughly  convinced  of  that 
noble  truth — if  truth  it  is — and  I  have  often  read  that 
chapter  with  much  satisfaction."  I  went  to  the 
table,  and  found  the  book — a  pocket  copy — the  leaves 
of  which  were  ready  turned  down  to  the  very  page  I 
wanted.  I  therefore  read  to  him,  slowly  and  empha- 
tically, the  whole  of  the  eighth  and  ninth  chapters, 
beginning,  "  Num  est  igitur  summum  bonum  immor- 
talitas,  ad  quam  capienaam,  etformati  a  pnncipio,  et 
nail  mmus.^''    When  I  had  got  as  far  as  the  allusion 

to  Cicero's  vacillating  views,  Mr. repeated  with 

me,  sighing,  the  words,  ^^harum  inquit  sententiarum^ 
quce  vera  sit,  Deus  aliquis  viderit.^^ — As  an  instance 
of  the 

"  Ruling  passion,  strong  in  death," 

I  may  mention,  though  somewhat  to  my  own  dis- 
credit, that  he  briskly  corrected  a  false  quantity 
which  slipped  from  me,  "Allow  me,  doctor — 'ex- 
petit,''  not  ^expetit.^^^  He  made  no  other  obseiTation, 
when  I  had  concluded  reading  the  chapters  from 
Lactantius,  than,  "I  certainly  wish  I  had  early 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  69 

formed  fixed  principles  on  religious  subjects — but  it 
is  now  too  late."  He  then  dropped  asleep,  but  pre- 
sently began  murmuring  very  sorrowfully — "  Emma, 
Emma !  haughty  one  !  Not  one  look  1 — I  am  dying 
— and  you  don't  know  it — nor  care  for  me  !  *  *  *  * 
How  beautiful  she  looked  stepping  from  the  carriage ! 
How  magnificently  dressed !  I  think  she  saw — -why 
can't  she  love  me  ]  She  cannot  love  somebody  else 
— No — madness — no !" — In  this  strain  he  continued 
soliloquizing  for  some  minutes  longer.  It  was  the 
first  time  I  had  ever  heard  any  thing  of  the  kind  fall 
from  him.  At  length  he  asked,  "  I  wonder  if  they 
ever  came  to  her  hands  V  as  if  striving  to  recollect 
something.  The  nurse  whispered  that  she  had  often 
heard  him  talk  in  the  night-time  about  this  lady,  and 
that  he  would  go  on  till  he  stopped  in  tears.  I  dis- 
covered, from  a  scrap  or  two  found  among  his  papers, 
after  his  decease,  that  the  person  he  addressed  as 
Emma  was  a  young  lady  in  the  higher  circles  of 
society,  of  considerable  beauty,  whom  he  first  saw 
by  accident,  and  fancied  she  had  a  regard  for  him. 
He  had,  in  turn,  indulged  in  the  most  extravagant 
and  hopeless  passion  for  her.  He  suspected  himself, 
that  she  was  wholly  unconscious  of  being  the  object 
of  his  almost  phrensied  admiration.  When  he  was 
asking  "  if  something  came  to  her  hands,"  I  have 
no  doubt  he  alluded  to  some  copy  of  verses  he  had 
sent  to  her — of  which  the  following  fragments, 
written  in  pencil  on  a  blank  leaf  of  his  Aristophanes, 
probably  formed  a  part.  There  is  some  merit  in 
them,  but  more  extravagance. 

"  I  could  go  through  the  world  with  thee, 
To  spend  with  thee  eternity  I 

*  *  *  *  * 

"  To  see  thy  blue  and  passionate  eye, 
Light  on  another  scornfully, 
But  fix  its  melting  glance  on  me, 
And  blend" 

"  Read  the  poor  heart  that  throbs  for  thee, 
Imprint  all  o'er  with  thy  dear  name— 


70  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

Yet  withering  'neath  a  lonely  flame, 
That  warms  th>;e  not,  yet  me  consumes !" 
***** 
"  Ay,  I  would  have  thee  all  my  own, 
Thy  love,  thy  life,  mine,  mine  alone ; 
See  nothing  in  the  world  but  me, 
Since  nought  I  know,  or  love,  but  thee ! 

"  The  eyes  that  on  a  thousand  fall, 
I  would  collect  their  glances  all, 
And  fling  their  lustre  on  my  soul. 
Till  it  imbibed,  absorb'd  the  whole." 

These  are  followed  by  several  lines  more;  but 
these  will  suffice.  This  insane  attachment  was 
exactly  what  I  might  have  expected  from  one  of  his 
ardent  and  enthusiastic  temperament.  To  return, 
however,  once  more.  Towards  eleven  o'clock,  he 
began  to  fail  rapidly.  I  had  my  fingers  on  his  pulse, 
which  beat  very  feebly,  almost  imperceptibly.  He 
opened  his  eyes  slowly,  and  gazed  upwards  with  a 
vacant  air. 

"  Why  are  you  taking  the  candles  away,  nurse  1" 
he  inquired,  feebly.  They  had  not  been  touched. 
His  cold  fingers  gently  compressed  my  hand — they 
were  stiffening  with  death.  "  Don't,  don't  put  the 
candles  out,  doctor,"  he  commenced  again,  looking 
at  me  with  an  eye  on  which  the  thick  mists  and 
shadows  of  the  grave  were  settling  fast — they  were 
filmy  and  glazed. 

"  Don't  blow  them  out — don't — don't !"  he  ag|iin 
exclaimed,  almost  inaudibly. 

"  No,  we  will  not ! — My  dear  Mr. ,  both  candles 

are  burning  brightly  beside  you,  on  the  table,"  I  re- 
plied tremulously, — for  I  saw  the  senses  were  for- 
getting their  functions — that  life  and  consciousness 
were  fast  retiring ! 

"  Well,"  he  murmured,  almost  inarticulately,  "  I  am 
now  quite  in  darkness ! — Oh,  there  is  something  at 
my  heart — cold,  cold! — Doctor,  keep  them  off!* — 

♦  I  once  before  heard  these  strange  words  fall  from  the  lips  of  a  dying 
patient— a  lady.  To  me  they  suggest  very  unpleasant,  I  may  say  fearftU 
thoughts.     What  is  to  be  kept  off? 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  71 

"Why — oh,  death — "  He  ceased.  He  had  spoken 
his  last  on  earth.  The  intervals  of  respiration  be- 
came gradually  longer  and  longer ;  and  the  precise 
moment  when  he  ceased  to  breathe  at  all  could  not 

be  ascertained.    Yes ;  it  was  all  over.    Poor  i\Ir. 

was  dead.     I  shall  never  forget  him. 

Preparing  for  the  House. 

"  Do,  dear  doctor,  be  so  good  p  to  drop  in  at 

Place,  in  the  course  of  the  mornnig,  by  accident;  for 

I  want  you  to  see  Mr. .     He  has,  I  verily  beheve, 

bid  adieu  to  his  senses ;  for  he  is  conducting  himself 
very  strangely.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  he  is  resolved 
on  going  down  to  the  House  this  evening,  for  the 

purpose   of  speaking  on  the  bill,  and  will,  I 

fear,  act  so  absurdly  as  to  make  himself  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  the  whole  country;  at  least  I  suspect  as 
much,  from  what  I  have  heard  of  his  preparations. 

Ask  to  be  shown  up  at  once  to  Mr. ,  when  you 

arrive,  and  gradually  direct  the  conversation  to  poli- 
tics— when  you  will  soon  see  what  is  the  matter. 
But  mind,  doctor,  not  a  word  of  this  note !  Your  ■ 
visit  will  be  quite  accidental,  you  know.  Believe 
me,  my  dear  doctor,  yours,  &c.  &c." — Such  \vas  the 
note  put  into  my  hands  by  a  servant,  as  my  carriage 
was  driving  oh"  on  my  first  morning  round.     I  knew 

Mrs. ,  the  fair  writer  of  it,  verj'-  intimately — as, 

indeed,  the  familiar  and  confidential  strain  of  her 
note  will  suffice  to  show.  She  was  a  very  amiable 
and  clever  woman — and  would  not  have  complained, 
I  was  sure,  without  reason.  Wishing,  therefore,  to 
oblige  her  by  a  prompt  attention  to  her  request,  and 
in  the  full  expectation,  from  what  I  knew  of  the 
worthy  member's  eccentricities,  of  encountering 
some  singular  scene,  I  directed  the  horses'  heads  to 

be  turned  towards Place.     I  reached  the  house 

about  twelve  o'clock,  and  went  up  stairs  at  once  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  I  understood  Mr. had 


72  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

taken  up  quarters  for  the  day.  The  servant  opened 
the  door  and  announced  me. 

"  Oh — show  Dr. in."     I  entered.     The  object 

of  my  visit,  I  may  just  say,  was  the  very  beau  ideal 
of  a  county  member;  somewhat  inclined  to  corpu- 
lency, with  a  fine,  fresh,  rubicund,  good-natured  face 
— and  that  bluff  old  English  frankness  of  manner 
which  flings  you  back  into  the  age  of  Sir  Roger  De 
Coverley.  He  was  dressed  in  a  long  gray  woollen 
morning-gown ;  and,  with  his  hands  crammed  into 
the  hind  pockets,  was  pacing  rapidly  to  and  fro  from 
one  end  of  the  spacious  room  to  the  other.  At  one 
extremity  was  a  table,  on  which  lay  a  sheet  of  fools- 
cap, closely  written,  and  crumpled  as  if  with  con- 
stant handling — his  gold  repeater,  and  a  half-emptied 
decanter  of  sherry,  with  a  wineglass.  A  glance  at 
all  these  paraphernalia  convinced  me  of  the  nature 

of  Mr. 's  occupation ;  he  was  committing  his 

speech  to  memory ! 

"How  d'ye  do — how  d'ye  do,  doctor!"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  a  hearty  but  hurried  tone;  "you  must 
not  keep  me  long:  busy — very  busy  indeed,  doctor." 
I  had  looked  in  by  accident,  I  assured  him,  and  did 
not  intend  to  detain  him  an  instant.  I  remarked  that 
I  supposed  he  was  busy  preparing  for  the  House. 

"Ah,  right,   doctor — right!    Ay,    a  d d  good 

hit,  too !  I  shall  peg  it  into  them  to-night,  doctor ! 
— I'll  let  them  know  what  an  English  county  mem- 
ber is !    I'll  make  the  House  too  hot  to  hold  them  !" 

said  Mr. ,  walking  to  and  fro,  at  an  accelerated 

pace.  He  was  evidently  boiling  over  with  excite- 
ment. 

"You  are  going  to  speak  to-night,  then,  on  the 

great question,  I  suppose  V  said  I,  hardly  able 

to  repress  a  smile. 

"  Speak,  doctor  1  I'll  burst  on  them  with  such  a 
view-halloo  as  shall  startle  the  whole  pack !  Pll  show 

my  Lord wliat  kind  of  stufl^  I'm  made  of— I  will, 

by !    He  was  pleased  to  tell  the  House,  the 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  73 

otlier  evening — curse  his  impudence ! — that  the  two 
members  for shire  were  a  mere  couple  of  dumb- 
bells— he  did,  by !   But  PU  show  him  whether 

or  not  I,  for  one  of  them,  am  to  be  jeered  and  flammed 
with  impunity!  Ha,  doctor — what  d'ye  think  of 
this  ]"  said  he,  hurrying  to  the  table,  and  taking  up 
the  manuscript  I  have  mentioned.  He  was  going  to 
read  it  to  me,  but  suddenly  stopped  short  and  laid  it 

down  again  on  the  table,  exclaiming,  "  Nay,  d e, 

I  know  it  off  by  this  time — so  listen  I  Have  at  ye, 
doctor !" 

After  a  pompous  hem !  hem !  he  commenced,  and 
with  infinite  energy  and  boisterousness  of  manner, 
recited  the  whole  oration.  It  was  certainly  a  won- 
derful— a  matchless  performance — parcelled  out  with 
■a  rigid  adherence  to  the  rules  of  ancient  rhetoric. 
As  he  proceeded,  he  recited  such  astounding  absurdi- 
ties— such  preposterous,  high-flewn  Bombastes-fu- 
rioso  declamations ;  as,  had  it  but  been  uttered  in 
the  House,  would  assuredly  have  procured  the  tri- 
umphant speaker  six  or  seven  distinct  rounds  of  con- 
vulsive laughter !  Had  I  not  known  well  the  sim- 
plicity and    sincerity — the  perfect   hcnhcwJe  —  of 

Mr ,  I  should  have  supposed  he  was  hoaxing  me 

— but  I  assuredly  suspected  he  was  himself  the 
hoaxed  party — the  joking-post  of  some  -witty  wag 
who  had  determined  to  aftbrd  the  House  a  night's 

sport  at  poor  Mr. 's  expense  !     Indeed,  I  never 

in  my  life  listened  to  such  pitifully  puerile,  such 
almost  idiotic,  gallimatia.  I  felt  certain  it  could  never 

have  been  the  composition  of  fox-hunting  Mv. ! 

There  was  a  hackneyed  quotation  from  Horace — from 
the  Septuagint  (!),  and  from  Locke;  and  then  a 
scampering  through  the  Avhole  flowery  realms  of 
rhetorical  ornament — and  a  glancing  at  every  topic 
of  foreign  or  domestic  policy  that  could  conceivably 
attract  the  attention  of  the  most  erratic  fancy.  In 
short,  there  never  before  was  such  a  speech  composed 
since  the  world  began !  And  tills  was  the  sort  o£ 
G 


74  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

thing  that  poor  Mr. actually  intended  to  deliver 

that  memorable  evening  in  the  House  of  Commons ! 
As  for  myself,  I  could  not  control  my  risible  facul- 
ties ;  but  accompanied  the  peroration  with  a  perfect 

shout  of  laughter !     Mr. laid  down  the  paper 

(which  he  had  twisted  into  a  sort  of  scroll)  in  an 
ecstasy,  and  joined  me  in  full  chorus,  slapping  me 

on  the   shoulder,  and   exclaiming  —  "Ah!   d e, 

doctor,  I  k7iew  you  would  like  it !  It's  just  the  thing 
— isn't  it  ?    There  will  be  no  standing  me  at  the  next  ■* 

election  for shire,  if  I  can  only  deliver  all  this  in 

the  House  to-night !  Old  Turnpenny,  that's  going 
to  start  against  me,  backed  by  the  manufacturing 
interest — won't  come  up — and  you  see  if  he  does ! — 
Curse  it !  I  thought  it  was  in  me ;  and  would  come 
out,  some  of  these  days. — They  shall  have  it  all  to- 
night— they  shall,  by !  Only  be  on  the  look- 
out for  the  morning  papers,  doctor — that's  all !"  and 
he  set  off,  walking  rapidly,  with  long  strides,  from 
one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other.  I  began  to  be 
apprehensive  that  there  was  too  much  ground  for 

Mrs. 's  suspicions,  that  he  had  literally  "  taken 

leave  of  his  senses."  Recollecting,  at  length  the 
object  of  my  visit,  which  the  amusing  exhibition  I 
have  been  attempting  to  describe  had  almost  driven 
from  my  memory,  I  endeavoured  to  think,  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  of  some  scheme  for  diverting 
him  from  his  purpose,  and  preventing  the  lamentable 
exposure  he  was  preparing  for  himself.  I  coidd  think 
of  nothing  else  than  attacking  him  on  a  sore  point 
— one  on  which  he  had  been  hipped  for  years,  and 
not  without  reason  —  an  hereditary  tendency  to 
apoplexy. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "  this  excitement  will 
destroy  you — you  Avill  bring  on  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  if 
you  go  on  for  an  hour  longer,  in  this  way — you  will 
indeed!"     He  stood  still,  changed  colour  a  little, 

and  stammered,  "  What !  eh,  d e,  apoplexy!   You 

don't  say  so,  doctor?  Hem !  how  is  my  pulse?"  ex- 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  75 

fending  his  wrist.  1  felt  it— looked  at  my  watch, 
and  shook  my  head. 

"Eh — what,  doctor!  JVewmarket,  eh?"  said  he, 
with  an  alarmed  air ;  meaning  to  ask  me  whether  his 
pulse  was  beating  rapidly. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  Mr. .     It  beats  upwards  of  one 

hundred  and  fifteen  a  minute,"  I  replied,  still  keeping 
my  fingers  at  his  wrist,  and  my  eyes  riveted  on  my 
watch — for  I  dared  not  trust  myself  with  looking  in 
his  countenance.  He  started  from  me  without  utter- 
ing a  syllable;  hurried  to  the  table,  poured  out  a 
glass  of  wine,  and  gulped  it  down  instantly.  I  sup- 
pose he  caught  an  unfortunate  smile  or  a  smirk  on 
my  face — for  he  came  up  to  me,  and  in  a  coaxing 
but  disturbed  manner,  said — "  Now,  come,  come, 
doctor — doctor,  no  humbug !    I  feel  well  enough  all 

over!     D e,  I  zvill  speak  in  the  House  to-night, 

come  what  may,  that's  flat !  Why,  there'll  be  a 
general  election  in  a  few  months,  and  it's  of  conse- 
quence for  me  to  do  something — to  make  a  figure 
in  the  House.  Besides — it  is  a  great  constitu- 
tional"  

"Well,  well,  Mr.  ,  imdoubtedly  you   must 

please  yourself,"  said  I,  seriously;  "but  if  a  fit 
should — you'll  remember  I  did  my  duty,  and  warned 
you  how  to  avert  it !" — "  Hem,  ahem !"  he  ejaculated, 
with  a  somewhat  puzzled  air.  I  thought  I  had  suc- 
ceeded in  shaking  liis  purpose.  I  was,  however,  too 
sanguuie  in  my  expectations.  "  I  must  bid  you  good 
morning,  doctor.  I  must  speak !  I  ziill  try  it,  to- 
night, at  all  events  ;  but  I'll  be  calm — I  will !  And  if 
I  should  die — but  d —  it,  that's  impossible,  you  know  ! 
But  if  I  should — why,  it  will  be  a  martyr's  death ;  I 
shall  die  a  patriot  —  ha,  ha,  ha!  Good  morning, 
doctor."  He  led  me  to  the  door,  laughing  as  he 
went,  but  not  so  heartily  or  boisterously  as  formerly. 

I  was  hurrying  down  stairs,  when  ]Mr. reopened 

the  drawing-room  door,  and  called  out,  "Doctor, 
doctor,  just  be  so  good  as  to  look  in  on  my  good  lady 


75  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

before  you  go.  She's  somewhere  about  the  house 
— in  her  boudoir,  I  dare  say.  She's  not  quite  well 
this  morning- — a  fit  of  the  vapours — hem  !  You 
understand  me,  doctor?"  putting  his  finger  to  the 
side  of  his  nose,  with  a  wise  air.  I  could  not  help 
smiling  at  the  reciprocal  anxiety  for  each  other's 
health  simultaneously  manifested  by  this  worthy 
couple. 

"  Well,  doctor,  am  not  I  right  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 

,  in  a  low  tone,  opening  the  dining-room  door^ 

and  beckoning  me  in. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  madam.  My  interview  was  little 
else  than  a  running  commentary  on  your  note  to  me.'* 

"  How  did  you  find  him  engaged,  doctor  1 — Learn- 
ing his  speech,  as  he  calls  it — eh  ?"  inquired  the  lady 
with  a  chagrined  air,  which  was  heightened  when  I 
recounted  what  had  passed  up-stairs. 

"Oh,  absurd!  monstrous!  doctor,  1  am  ready  to 
expire  with  vexation  to  see  Mr. acting  so  fool- 
ishly.   But  it  is  all  owing  to  that  odious  Dr. ,  the 

village  rector,  who  is  up  in  town  now,  and  an  im- 
mense crony  of  Mr. 's.     I  suspected  there  was 

something  brewing  between  them;  for  they  have 
been  laying  their  wise  heads  together  for  a  week 
past.  Did  not  he  repeat  the  speech  to  you,  doctor  1 — 
the  whole  of  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  madam,  he  did,"  I  replied,  smiling 
at  the  recollection. 

"Ah — hideous  rant  it  was,  I  dare  say! — I'll  tell 
you  a  secret,  doctor.  I  know  it  was  every  word 
composed  by  that  abominable  old  addle-head.  Dr. 

,  a  noodle  that  he  is  ! — (I  wonder  what  brought 

him  up  from  his  parish  !)— And  it  is  he  that  has  in- 
flamed Mr. 's  fancy  with  making  a  great  hit  in  the 

House,  as  they  call  it.     That  precious  piece  of  stuflT 

which  they  call  a  speech,  poor  Mr. has  been 

learning  for  this  week  past ;  and  has  several  times 
woke  me  in  the  night  with  ranting  snatches  of  it»"  I 
begged  Mrs. not  to  take  it  so  seriously. 


DIARY   OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  77 

"  Now,  tell  me  candidly,  Dr. ,  did  you  ever 

hear  such  nonsense  in  your  life  ?  It  is  all  that  coun- 
try parson's  small-beer  trash  !  I'm  sure  our  name 
will  run  the  gauntlet  of  all  the  papers  in  England, 
for  a  fortnight  to  come !"  I  said,  I  was  sorry  to  be 
compelled  to  acquiesce  in  the  truth  of  what  she  was 
saying.   ^ 

"  Really,"  she  continued,  pressing  her  hand  to  her 
forehead,  "  I  feel  quite  poorly  myself,  with  agitation 
at  the  thought  of  to-night's  farce.  Did  you  attempt 
to  dissuade  hirh  1  You  might  have  frightened  him 
with  a  hint  or  two  about  his  tendency  to  apoplexy, 
you  know." 

"  I  did  my  utmost,  madam,  I  assure  you ;  and  cer- 
tainly startled  him  not  a  little.  But,  alas !  he  ralHed, 
and  good-humouredly  sent  me  from  the  room,  telling 
me,  that  if  the  effort  of  speaking  killed  him  he  should 
share  the  fate  of  Lord  Chatham,  or  something  of  that 
sort." 

"  Preposterous  !"   exclaimed    Mrs.  ,    almost 

shedding  tears  with  vexation.  "But,  entre  nouSf 
doctor,  coidd  you  not  think  of  any  thing — hem ! — 
something  in  the  medical  way — to  prevent  his  going 
to  the  House  to-night  ] — A — a  sleeping  draught — eh, 
doctor  ?" 

" Really,  my  dear  madam,"  said  I,  seriously,  "I 
should  not  feel  justified  in  going  so  far  as  that." 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear  doctor,  what  possible  harm  can 
there  be  in  it  ?  Do  consent  to  my  wishes  for  once, 
and  I  shall  be  eternally  obhged  to  you.  Do  order  a 
simple  sleeping  draught — strong  enough  to  keep  him 
in  bed  till  five  or  six  o'clock  in  the  morning — and  I 
will  myself  slip  it  into  his  wine  at  dinner." — In 
short,  there  was  no  resisting  the  importunities  and 

distress  of  so  fine  a  woman  as  Mrs. ;  so  I  ordered 

about  five-and-thirty  drops  of  laudanum,  in  a  little 
sirup  and  water.  But,  alas !  this  scheme  was  frus- 
trated by  Mr. 's,  two  hours  afterward,  unexpect- 
edly ordering  the  carriage  (while  Mrs. was  her- 

G2 


78  PASSAGES  FROM   THE 

self  gone  to  procure  his  quietus j,  ana  leaving  word 
he  should  dine  with  some  members  that  evening  at 
Brook es's.  After  all,  however,  a  lucky  accident  ac- 
complished Mrs. 's  wishes,  though  it  deprived 

her  husband  of  that  opportunity  of  wearing  the 
laurels  of  parliamentary  eloquence  ;  for  the  ministry, 
finding  the  measure  against  which  Mr. had  in- 
tended to  level  his  oration  to  be  extremely  unpopu- 
lar, and  anticipating  that  they  should  be  dead  beat, 
wisely  postponed  it  sine  die. 

Duelling* 

I  had  been  invited  by  young  Lord ,  the  noble- 

man  mentioned  in  my  former  chapter,  to  spend  the 
latter  part  of  my  last  college  vacation  with  his  lord- 
ship at  his  shooting-box  in shire.  As  his  des- 
tined profession  was  the  army,  he  had  already  a 
tolerably  numerous  retinue  of  military  friends,  several 
of  whom  were  engaged  to  join  us  on  our  arrival  at 

;  so  that  we  anticipated  a  very  gay  and  jovial 

season.  Our  expectations  were  not  disappointed. 
What  with  fishing,  shooting,  and  riding  abroad — 
billiards,  songs,  and  \\\^  feeding  at  home — our  days 
and  nights  glided  as  merrily  away  as  fun  and  frolic 
would  make  them.  One  of  the  many  schemes  of 
amusement  devised  by  our  party  was  giving  a  sort 
of  military  subscription  ball  at  the  small  toAvn  of 

,  from  which  we  were  distant  not  more  than  four 

or  five  miles.     All  my  Lord 's  party,  of  course, 

were  to  be 'there,  as  well  as  several  others  of  his 
friends  scattered  at  a  little  distance  from  him  in  the 
country.  On  the  appointed  day  all  went  oflT  admira- 
bly. The  little  town  of — ^absolutely  reeled  be- 
neath the  unusual  excitenrent  of  music,  dancing,  and 
universal  feting.     It  was,  in  short,  a  sort  of  minia- 

*  The  melancholy  facts  on  which  the  ensuing  narrative  is  founded,  I 
find  entered  in  the  Diary  as  far  back  as  nearly  twenty-five  years  ago ; 
and  I  am  convinced,  after  some  little  inquiry,  that  there  is  no  one  aow 
iiviog  whose  feelings  could  be  sliocked  at  reading  it. 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  79 

ture  carnival,  which  the  inhabitants,  for  several  rea- 
sons, but  more  especially  the  melancholy  one  I  am 
going-  to  mention,  have  not  yet  forgotten.  It  is  not 
very  wonderful  that  all  the  rustic  beauty  of  the  place 
was  there.  Many  a  village  belle  v\'as  there,  in  truth, 
panting  and  fluttering  with  delighted  agitation  at  the 
unusual  attentions  of  their  handsome  and  agreeable 
partners  ;  for  there  was  not  a  young  military  mem- 
ber of  our  party  but  merited  the  epithets.  As  for  myself, 
being  cursed,  as  I  once  before  hinted,  with  a  very  insig- 
nificant person,  and  not  the  most  attractive  or  commu- 
nicative manners,  being  utterly  incapable  of  pouring 
that  soft,  delicious  nonsense,  that  fascinating,  search- 
ing small-talk,  which  has  stolen  so  often  right  through 
a  lady's  ear  into  the  very  centre  of  her  heart, — being 
no  hand,  I  say,  at  this,  I  contented  myself  with  danc- 
ing a  set  or  two  witli  a  young  woman  whom  nobody 
else  seemed  inclined  to  lead  out ;  and  continued  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening  more  a  spectator  than  a  par- 
taker of  the  gayeties  of  the  scene.  There  was  one 
girl  there — the  daughter  of  a  reputable,  retired  trades- 
man— of  singular  beauty,  and  known  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood by  the  name  of  "  The  Blue  Bell  of ." 

Of  course  she  was  the  object  of  universal  admira- 
tion, and  literally  besieged  the  whole  evening  with 
applications  for  the  "  honour  of  her  hand."  I  do  not 
exaggerate,  when  I  say  that,  in  my  opinion,  this 
young  woman  was  perfectly  beautiful.  Her  com- 
plexion was  of  dazzling  purity  and  transparence; 
her  symmetrical  features  of  a  placid  bustlike  char- 
acter, which,  however,  would  perhaps  have  been 
considered  insipid  had  it  not  been  for  a  brilliant  pair 
of  large,  languishing,  soft  blue  eyes,  resembling 

"  blue  water-lilies,  -whcrrthe  breeze 

Maketh  the  crj-stal  waters  round  them  tremble," 

which  it  Avas  almost  madness  to  look  upon.  And 
then  her  light  auburn  hair,  which  hung  in  loose  and 
easy  curls,  and  settled  on  each  cheek  like  a  soft 


80  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

golden  cloud  flitting  past  the  moon !  Her  figure  was 
in  keeping  with  her  countenance — slender,  graceful, 
and  delicate — with  a  most  exquisitely  turned  foot  and 
ankle.  I  have  spent  so  many  words  about  her  descrip- 
tion, because  I  have  never  since  seen  any  woman  that 
I  thought  equalled  her,  and  because  her  beauty  was 
the  cause  of  what  I  am  about  to  relate.  She  riveted 
the  attention  of  all  our  party  except  my  young  host, 

Lord ,  v/ho  adhered  all  the  evening  to  a  sweet 

creature  he  had  selected  on  first  entering  the  room. 
1  observed,  however,  one  of  our  party,  a  dashing 
young  captain  in  the  Guards,  highly  connected,  and 
of  handsome  and  prepossessing  person  and  manners, 
and  a  gentleman  of  nearly  equal  personal  pretensions, 

who  had  been  invited  from Hall,  his  father's 

seat,  to  exceed  every  one  present  in  their  attentions 

to  sweet  Mary ;  and  as  she  occasionally  smiled 

on  one  or  the  other  of  the  rivals,  I  saw  the  counte- 
nance of  either  alternately  clouded  with  displeasure. 

Captain was  soliciting  her  hand  for  the  last  set 

— a  country  dance — when  his  rival  (whom  for  dis- 
tinction's sake  I  shall  call  Trevor,  though  that,  of 
course,  is  very  far  from  his  real  name),  stepping  up 
to  her,  seized  her  hand,  and  said,  in  rather  a  sharp 

and  quick  tone,  "  Captain ,  she  has  promised  me 

the  last  set ;  I  beg,  therefore,  you  will  resign  her.     I 

am  right.  Miss V  he  inquired  of  the  girl,  who 

blushingly  replied,  "  I  think  I  did  promise  Mr.  Trevor, 
but  I  would  dance  with  both  if  I  could.  Captain, 
you  are  not  angry  with  me,  are  you  V  she  smiled, 
appealingly. 

"  Certainly  not,  madam,"  he  replied,  with  a  peculiar 
emphasis ;  and  after  directing  an  eye  which  kindled 
like  a  star  to  his  more  successful  rival,  retired  haugh- 
tily a  few  paces,  and  soon  afterward  left  the  room. 
A  strong  conviction  seized  me  that,  even  this  small 
and  trifling  incident  would  be  attended  with  mischief 
between  those  two  haughty  and  undisciplined  spirits ; 
for  I  occasionally  saw  Mr,  Trevor  turn  a  moment 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN'.  82 

from  his  beautiful  partner,  and  cast  a  stem,  inquiring 
glance  round  the  room,  as  if  in  search  of  Captain 

.     I  saw  he  had  noticed  the  haughty  frown  with 

which  the  captain  had  retired. 
Most  of  the  gentlemen  who  had  accompanied  Lord 

to  this  ball  were  engaged  to  dine  with  him  on  the 

next  Sunday  evening.  Mr.  Trevor  and  the  captain 
(who,  I  think,  I  mentioned  was  staying  a  few  days 
with  his  lordship)  would  meet  at  this  party,  and  I 

determined  to  watch  their  demeanour.     Captain 

was  at  the  window,  when  Mr.  Trevor,  on  horseback, 
attended  by  his  groom,  alighted  at  the  door,  and  on 
seeing  who  it  was,  walked  away  to  another  part  of 
the  room  with  an  air  of  assumed  indifference  ;  but  I 
caught  his  quick  and  restless  glance  invarialDly  di- 
rected at  the  door  through  which  Mr.  Trevor  would 
enter.  They  saluted  each  other  with  civility — rather 
coldly  I  thought — but  there  was  nothing  particularly 
marked  in  the  manner  of  either.  About  twenty  sat 
down  to  dinner.  All  promised  to  go  off  well ;  for 
the  cooking  was  admirable,  the  wines  first  rate,  and 

conversation  brisk  and  various.     Captain and 

Mr.  Trevor  were  seated  at  some  distance  from  each 
other;  the  former  was  my  next  neighbour.  The 
cloth  was  not  removed  till  a  few  minutes  after  eight, 
when  a  dessert  and  a  fresh  and  large  supply  of  wine 
were  introduced.  The  late  ball,  of  course,  was  a  pro- 
minent topic  of  conversation ;  and  after  a  few  of  the 
usual  bachelor  toasts  had  been  drunk  with  noisy  en- 
thusiasm, and  we  all  felt  the  elevating  influence  of 

the  wine  we  had  been  drinking,  Lord stood  up, 

and  said,  "  Now,  my  dear  fellows,  I  have  a  toast  in 
my  eye  that  will  delight  you  all ;  so  bumpers,  gen- 
tlemen—bumpers ! — up  to  the  very  brim.  So  make 
sure  your  glasses  are  full,  while  I  propose  to  you  the 
health  of  a  beautiful — nay,  by !  the  most  beau- 
tiful girl  we  have  any  of  us  seen  for  this  year !  Ha ! 
I  see  all  anticipate  me,  so  to  be  short — here  is  the 
health  of  Mary ,  the  Blue  Bell  of !"    It  was 


82  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

drunk  with  acclamation.  I  thought  I  perceived  Cap- 
tain — — 's  hand,  however,  shake  a  little  as  he  lifted 
his  glass  to  his  mouth. 

"  Who  is  to  return  thanks  for  her  ?" — "  Her  favour- 
ite beau,  to  be  sure." — "  Who  is  he  V — "  Legs — rise 
— legs — whoever  he  is!"  was  shouted,  asked,  and 
answered  in  a  breath.  "  Oh,  Trevor  is  the  happy  man, 
there's  no  doubt  of  that ;  he  monopolized  her  all  the 
evening — /  could  not  get  her  hand  once,"  exclaimed 
one  near  Mr.  Trevor.  "  Nor  I" — "  Nor  I,"  echoed 
several.  Mr.  Trevor  looked  with  a  delighted  and 
triumphant  air  round  the  room,  and  seemed  about  to 
rise,  but  there  was  a  cry — "  No — Trevor  is  not  the 

man — /  say  captain is  the  favourite !" — "  Ay, 

ten  to  one  on  the  captain !"  roared  a  young  hero  of 
Ascot.  "  Stuff — stuff!"  muttered  the  captain,  cut- 
ting an  apple  to  fritters,  and  now  and  then  casting 
a  fierce  glance  towards  Mr.  Trevor.  There  were 
many  noisy  maintainers  of  both  Trevor  and  the  cap- 
tain. 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen,"  said  a  young  Cornish 
baronet,  good-humouredly,  seeing  the  two  young  men 
appeared  to  view  the  affair  very  seriously,  "  the  best 
way,  since  I  dare  be  sworn  the  girl  herself  does  not 
know  which  she  likes  best,  will  be  to  toss  up  who 
shall  be  given  the  credit  of  her  beau !"  A  loud  laugh 
followed  this  droll  proposal,  in  which  all  joined  ex- 
cept Trevor  and  the  captain.     The  latter  had  poured 

out  some  claret  while  Sir was  speaking,  and 

sipped  it  with  an  air  of  assumed  carelessness.  I  ob- 
served, however,  that  he  never  removed  his  eye  from 
his  glass,  and  that  his  face  was  pale,  as  if  from  some 
strong  internal  emotion.  Mr.  Trevor's  demeanour, 
however,  also  indicated  considerable  embarrassment, 
but  he  was  older  than  the  captain,  and  had  much 
more  command  of  manner.  I  was  amazed,  for  my 
own  part,  to  see  them  take  up  such  an  insignificant 
affair  so  seriously ;  but  these  things  generally  involve 
go  much  of  the  strong  passions  of  our  youthful 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  83 

nature,  especially  our  vanity  and  jealousy,  that  on 
second  thoughts  my  surprise  abated. 

"  I  certainly  fancied  you  were  the  favourite,  cap- 
tain ;  for  I  saw  her  blush  with  satisfaction  when  you 
squeezed  her  hand,"  I  whispered. 

"  You  are  right, ,"  he  answered,  with  a  forced 

smile ;  "  I  don't  think  Trevor  can  have  any  preten- 
sions to  her  favour."  The  noisiness  of  the  party- 
was  now  subsiding,  and,  nobody  knew  why,  an  air 
of  blank  emban-assment  seemed  to  pervade  all 
present. 

"  Upon  my  honour,  gentlemen,  this  is  a  vastly  silly 
affair  altogether,  and  quite  unworthy  such  a  stir  as 
it  has  excited,"  said  Mr.  Trevor ;  "  but  as  so  much 
notice  has  been  taken  of  it,  I  caimot  help  saving, 
though  it  is  monstrously  absurd,  perhaps, that  I  think 

the  beautiful  '  Blue  Bell  of '  is  mine — mine  alone. 

I  believe  I  have  good  ground  for  saying  I  am  the  sole 
wiimer  of  the  prize,  and  have  distanced  my  military 
competitor,"  continued  Mr.  Trevor,  turning  to  Cap- 
tain   with  a  grim  air,  which  was  very  foreign  to 

his  real  feelings,  "  though  his  bright  eyes,  his  debo- 
nair demeanour,  that  fascinating  je  ne  sais  quoi  of 

his" 

.  "  Trevor,  don't  be  insolent !"  exclaimed  the  captain 
sternly,  reddening  with  passion. 

'^Insolent!  captain?  What  the  dense  do  you  mean? 
I'm  sure  you  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  me — oh,  it's 
impossible !    If  I  have  said  what  was  offensive,  by 

I  did  not  mean  it ;  and,  as  we  said  at  Rugby, 

indictum  puta,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.  But  as  for 
my  smart  little  Blue  Bell,  I  know — am  perfectly  cer- 
tain— ay,  spite  of  the  captain's  dark  looks— that  I 
am  the  happy  man.  So,  gentlemen,  de  jure  and  de 
facto — for  her  I  return  you  thanks."  He  sat  down. 
There  w^s  so  much  kindness  in  his  maimer,  and  he 
had  so  handsomely  disavowed  any  intentions  of  hurt- 
ing Captain  — ^'s  feelings,  that  I  hoped  the  young 
Hotspur  beside  me  was  quieted.    Not  so,  however. 


84  PASSAGES    PROM    THE 

"  Trevor,"  said  he,  in  a  hurried  tone,  "  you  are  mis* 

t^ken — you  are,  by !    You  don't  know  what 

passed  between  JNIarj'- and  myself  that  evening. 

On  my  word  and  honour,  she  told  me  she  wished  she 
could  be  Off  her  engagement  with  you." 

"  Nonsense !  nonsense  !  She  must  have  said  it  to 
amuse  you,  captain — she  could  have  had  no  other 
intention.     The  very  next  morning  she  told  me" — 

"  The  ^'ery  next  morning !"  shouted  Captain ; 

"  why,  what  the  could  you  have  M^anted  with 

Mary the  next  morning?" 

"  That  is  my  affair,  captain,  not  yours.  And  since 
you  will  have  it  out,  I  tell  you  for  your  consolation, 
that  Maiy  and  I  have  met  every  day  since !"  said 
Mr.  Trevor,  loudly,  even  vehemently.  He  was  get- 
ting a  \ilX\e  Jiustered^  as  the  phrase  is,  with  wine, 
which  he  was  pouring  down  glass  after  glass,  or  of 
course  he  could  never  have  made  such  an  absurd, 
such  an  unusual  disclosure. 

"  Trevor,  1  must  say  you  act  very  meanly  in  telhng 
us,  if  it  really  is  so,"  said  the  captain,  with  an  in- 
tensely chagrined  and  mortified  air;  "and  if  you 
intend  tC>  ruin  that  sweet  and  innocent  creature,  I 
shall  take  leave  to  say  that  you  are  a — a — a — curse 
on  it,  it  WILL  out — a  villain !"  continued  the  captain, 
slowly  and  deliberately.  My  heart  flew  up  to  my 
throat,  where  it  fluttered  as  though  it  would  have 
choked  me.  There  was  an  instant  and  dead  si- 
lence. 

"  A  villam!  did  you  say,  cajDtain?  and  accuse  me 
of  meanness  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Trevor,  cooll}^,  while  the 
colour  suddenly  faded  from  his  darkening  features ; 
and  rising  from  his  chair,  he  stepped  forward  and 
stood  nearly  opposite  to  the  captain,  with  his  half- 
emptied  glass  in  his  hand,  which,  however,  M'as  not 
observed  by  him  he  addressed.  "  Yes,  sir,  I  did  say 
so,"  replied  the  captain,  firmly,  "  and  Avhat  then  ?" 

"  Then  of  course  you  will  see  the  necessity  of  apolo- 
gizing for  it  instantly,"  rejoined  Mr.  Trevor. 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  85 

"  As  I  am  not  in  the  habit,  Mr.  Trevor,  of  saying 
what  requires  an  apology,  I  have  none  to  offer,"  said 

Captain ,  drawing  himself  up  in  his  chair,  and 

eying  Mr.  Trevor  with  a  steady  look  of  composed 
intrepidity. 

"  Then,  captain,  don't  expect  me  to  apologize  for 
this  /"  thundered  Mr.  Trevor,  at  the  same  time  hurl- 
ing his  glass,  wine  and  all,  at  the  captain's  head. 
Part  of  the  wine  fell  on  me,  but  the  glass  glanced  at 

the  ear  of  Captain ,  and  cut  it  shghtly ;  for  he 

had  started  aside  on  seeing  Mr.  Trevor's  intention. 
A  mist  seemed  to  cover  my  eyes  as  I  saw  every  one 
present  rising  from  his  chair.  The  room  was,  of 
course,  in  an  uproar.  The  two  who  had  quarrelled 
were  the  only  calm  persons  present.  INIr.  Trevor  re- 
mained standing  on  the  same  spot,  with  his  arms 

folded  on  his  breast,  while  Captain calmly  wiped 

off  the  stains  of  wine  from  his  shirt-ruffles  and  white 

waistcoat,  walked  up  to  Lord ,  who  was  at  but 

a  yard  or  two's  distance,  and  inquired,  in  a  low  tone 
of  voice,  "  Your  lordship  has  pistols  here,  of  course  ? 
We  had  better  settle  this  little  matter  now  and  here. 

Captain  V ,  you  will  kindly  do  what  is  necessary 

for  me  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  be  calm !  This  is  really  a  very 
absurd  quarrel, — likely  to  be  a  dreadful  business 
though  !"  replied  his  lordship,  with  great  agitation ; 
"  come,  shake  hands  and  be  friends ! — come,  don't  let 
a  trumpery  dinner  brawl  lead  to  bloodshed — and  in 
my  house,  too ! — make  it  up  like  men  of  sense" — 

"  That  your  lordship,  of  course,  knows  as  well  as 

I  do  is  impossible.    Will  you,  Captain  V ,  be  good 

enough  to  bring  the  pistols  ]  You  will  find  them  in 
his  lordship's  shooting  gallery — we  had  better  ad- 
journ there,  by  the  way,  eh  ]"  inquired  the  captain, 
coolly.     He  had  seen  many  of  these  affairs ! 

"  Then  bring  them — bring  them,  by  all  means," — 
"  In  God's  name,  let  this  quarrel  be  settled  on  the 

spot !"  exclaimed ,  and ,  and . 

H 


86  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

"  We  all  know  they  must  fight — that's  as  clear  as 
the  sun — so  the  sooner  the  better!"  exclaimed  the 
honourable  Mr. ,  a  hot-headed  cousin  of  Lord 

"Eternal  curses  on  the  silly  slut!"  groaned  his 
lordship ;  "  here  will  be  bloodshed  for  her !  My  dear 
Trevor !"  said  he,  hurrying  to  that  gentleman,  who, 
wiih  seven  or  eight  people  round  him,  was  convers- 
ing on  the  affair  with  perfect  composure  ;  "  do,  I  im- 
plore— I  beg — I  supplicate  that  you  would  leave  my 
house !  Oh,  don't  let  it  be  said  I  ask  people  here  to 
kill  one  another !  Why  may  not  this  wretched  busi- 
ness be  made  up  1  By it  shall  be,"  said  he,  vehe- 
mently ;  and  putting  his  arm  into  that  of  Mr.  Trevor, 
he  endeavoured  to  draw  him  towards  the  spot  where 
Captain was  standing. 

"  Your  lordship  is  very  good,  but  it's  useless,"  re- 
plied ]Mr.  Trevor,  struggling  to  disengage  his  arm 

from  that  of  Lord .     "  Your  lordship  knows  the 

business  must  be  settled,  and  the  sooner  the  better. 
My  friend  Sir has  undertaken  to  do  what  is  cor- 
rect on  the  occasion.     Come,"  addressing  the  young 

baronet,  "  away !  and  join  Captain  Y ."    All  this 

was  uttered  M'ith  real  nonchalance.  Somebody  pre- 
sent told  him  that  the  captain  was  one  of  the  best 
shots  in  England — could  hit  a  sixpence  at  ten  yards' 

distance.     "  Can  he,  by ?"  said  he,  with  a  smile, 

without  evincing  the  slightest  symptoms  of  trepida- 
tion ;  "  why,  then,  I  may  as  well  make  my  will,  for 
I'm  as  blind  as  a  mole  ! — Ha !  I  have  it."  He  walked 
out  from  among  those  who  were  standing  round 
him,  and  strode  up  to  Captain ,  who  was  con- 
versing earnestly  with  one  or  two  of  his  brother 
officers. 

"  Captain ,'"  said  Mr.  Trevor,  firmly,  extending 

his  right  hand  with  his  glove  half  drawn  on.  The 
captain  turned  suddenly  towards  him  with  a  furious 
scowl. — "  I  am  told  you  are  a  dead  shot,  eh  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  and  what  of  tliat  V  inquired  the  cap- 


DIARY   OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAX.  87 

tain,  haughtily,  and  with  some  curiosity  in  his  coun- 
tenance. 

"  You  know  I  am  short-sighted,  blind  as  a  beetle, 
and  not  very  well  used  in  shooting  matters."  Every 
one  present  started,  and  looked  with  surprise  and  dis- 
pleasure at  the  speaker ;  and  one  muttered  in  my 
ear — "  Eh !  d !  Trevor  showing  the  white  fea- 
ther?    1  aw  astonished!" 

"  WTiy,  what  do  you  mean  by  all  this,  sir]"  inquired 
the  captain,  with  a  contemptuous  sneer. 

"  Oh,  merely  that  we  ought  not  to  fight  on  unequal 
terms.  Do  you  think,  my  good  sir,  I  will  stand  to 
be  shot  at  without  having  a  chance  of  returning  the 
favour]  I  have  to  say,  therefore,  merely,  that  since 
this  quarrel  is  of  your  own  seeking,  and  your  own 

d d  folly  only  has  brought  it  about,  I  shall  insist 

on  our  fighting  breast  lo  breast — muzzle  to  muzzle — 
and  across  a  table.  Yes,"  he  continued,  elevating 
his  voice  to  nearly  a  shout ;  "  we  will  go  down  to  hell 
together,  if  we  go  at  all — that  is  some  consolation." 

"  Infamous !" — "  Monstrous !"  was  echoed  from  all 
present.  They  would  not,  they  said,  hear  of  such  a 
thing — they  would  not  stand  to  see  such  butchery  I 
Eight  or  ten  left  the  room  abruptly,  and  did  not  return. 

Captain made  no  reply  to  Trevor's  proposal, 

but  was  conversing  anxiously  with  his  friends. 

"  JVozc,  sir,  who  is  the  coward!"  inquired  Mr.  Tre- 
vor, sarcastically. 

"  A  few  moments  will  show,"  replied  the  captain, 
stepping  forward,  with  no  sign  of  agitation  except  a 
countenance  of  an  ashy  hue  ;  '*  for  I  accede  to  your 
terms,  ruihanly — murderous  as  they  are ;  and  may 
the  curse  of  a  ruined  house  overwhelm  you  and  your 

family  for  ever !"  faltered  Captain ,  who  saw,  of 

course,  that  certain  death  was  before  both.  "Are 
the  pistols  preparing  ]"  inquired  Mr.  Trevor,  without 

regarding  the  exclamation  of  Captain .     He  Was 

answered  in  the  affirmative,  that  Captain  V and 

Sir were  both  absent  on  that  errand.    It  was 


88  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

agreed  that  the  distressing  aflfair  should  take  place  in 
the  shooting  gallery,  where  their  noise  would  be  less 
likely  to  alarm  the  servants.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  repeat  the  exclamations  of  "  Murder ! — downright, 
savage,  deliberate  murder!"  which  burst  from  all 
around.  Two  gentlemen  left  abruptly,  saddled  their 
horses,  and  galloped  after  peace-officers ;  while  Lord 
,  who  was  almost  distracted,  hurried,  accompa- 
nied by  several  gentlemen  and  myself,  to  the  shoot- 
ing gallery,  leaving  the  captain  and  a  friend  in  the 
dining-room,  while  Mr.  Trevor  with  another  betook 
themselves  to  the  shrubbery  walk.  His  lordship  in- 
formed Captain  V and  the  baronet  of  the  dread- 
ful nature  of  the  combat  that  had  been  determined 
on  since  they  had  left  the  room.  They  both  threw 
down  the  pistols  they  were  in  the  act  of  loading,  and, 
horror-struck,  swore  they  would  have  no  concern 
whatever  in  such  a  barbarous  and  bloody  transaction. 

A  sudden  suggestion  of  Lord 's,  however,  was 

adopted.  They  agreed,  after  much  hesitation  and 
doubt  as  to  the  success  of  the  project,  to  charge  the 
pistols  with  powder  only,  and  put  them  into  the  hands 
of  the  captain  and  Mr.  Trevor  as  though  they  were 

loaded  with  ball.     Lord was  sanguine  enough 

to  suppose,  that  when  they  had  both  stood  fire,  and 
indisputably  proved  their  courage,  the  affair  might  be 
settled  amicably.  As  soon  as  the  necessary  prepara- 
tions were  completed,  and  two  dreary  lights  were 
placed  in  the  shooting  gallery,  both  the  hostile  parties 
were  summoned.  As  it  was  well  known  that  I  was 
preparing  for  the  medical  profession,  my  services 
were  put  into  requisition  for  both. 

"But  have  you  any  instruments  or  bandages?" 
inquired  some  one. 

"  It  is  of  little  consequence ;  we  are  not  likely  to 
want  them,  I  think,  if  our  pistols  do  their  duty,"  said 
Mr.  Trevor.  - 

But  a  servant  was  mounted  on  the  fleetest  horse  in 
Lord 's  stable,  and  despatched  for  the  surgeon. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  89 

"who  resided  at  not  more  than  half  a  mile's  distance, 
with  a  note  requesting  him  to  come  furnished  with 
the  necessary  instruments  for  a  gun-shot  wound.  As 
the  principals  were  impatient,  and  the  seconds  as  well 
as  the  others  present  were  in  the  secret  of  the  blank 
charge  in  the  pistols,  and  anticipated  nothing  like 
bloodshed,  the  pistols  were  placed  in  the  hands  of 
each  in  dead  silence,  and  the  tAVO  parties,  with  their 
respective  friends,  retired  to  a  little  distance  from 
each  other. 

"  Are  you  prepared,  Mr.  Trevor  ?"  inquired  one  of 

Captain  's  party;   and  being  answered  in  the 

affirmative,  in  a  moment  after  the  two  principals, 
pistol  in  hand,  approached  one  another.  Though  I 
was  almost  blinded  with  agitation,  and  was,  in  com- 
mon with  those  around,  quaking  for  the  success  of 
our  scheme,  my  eyes  were  riveted  on  their  every 
movement.  There  was  something  solemn  and  im- 
pressive in  their  demeanour.  Though  stepping  to 
certain  death,  as  they  supposed,  there  was  not  the 
slightest  symptom  of  terror  or  agitation  visible— no 
swaggering — no  affectation  of  a  calmness  they  did 
m)t  feel.  The  countenance  of  each  was  deadly  pale 
and  damp  ;  *but  not  a  muscle  trembled. 

"  Who  is  to  give  us  the  word  ]"  asked  the  captain 
in  a  whisper,  which,  though  low,  was  heard  all  over 
the  room ;  "  for  in  this  sort  of  affair,  if  one  fires  a 
second  before  the  other  he  is  a  murderer."  At  that 
moment  there  was  a  noise  heard ;  it  was  the  surgeon 
who  had  arrived,  and  now  entered  breathless.  "  Step 
out,  and  give  the  word  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Trevor, 
impatiently.  Both  the  captain  and  Mr.  Trevor  re- 
turned and  shook  hands,  with  a  melancholy  smile, 
with  their  friends,  and  then  retook  their  places.  The 
gentleman  who  was  to  give  the  signal  then  stepped 
towards  them,  and  closing  his  eyes  with  his  hands, 
said,  in  a  tremulous  tone,  "  Raise  your  pistols !" — 
the  muzzles  were  instantly  touching  one  another's 
breasts — "  and  when  I  have  counted  three,  fire.  One 
H2 


90  PASSAGES   FROM  THE 

— ^two — three !"  They  fired — both  recoiled  with  the 
shock  several  paces,  and  their  friends  rushed  for- 
ward. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this !"  exclaimed 
both  in  a  breath.  "  Who  has  dared  to  mock  us  in 
this  way  1 — there  were  no  balls  in  the  pistols !"  ex- 
claimed Trevor,  fiercely.     Lord and  the  seconds 

explained  th^  well-meant  artifice,  and  received  an 
indignant  curse  for  their  pains.  It  was  in  vain  we  all 
implored  them  to  be  reconciled,  as  each  had  done  am- 
ply sufficient  to  vindicate  his  honour.  Trevor  almost 
gnashed  his  teeth  with  fury.  There  was  something 
fiendish,  I  thought,  in  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance.    "  It  is  easily  remedied,"  said  Captain , 

as  his  eye  caught  several  small-swords  hanging  up. 
He  took  down  two,  measured  them,  and  proffered  one 
to  his  antagonist,  who  clutched  it  eagerly.  "  There 
can  be  no  deception  here,  however,"  said  he ;  "  and 
now" — each  put  himself  into  posture — "stand  off 
there !" 

We  fell  back  horror-struck  at  the  relentless  and 
revengeful  spirit  with  which  they  seemed  animated. 
I  do  not  know  which  was  the  better  swordsman ;  I 
recollect  only  seeing  a  rapid  glancing  of  their  wea- 
pons flashing  about  like  sparks  of  fire,  and  a  hurrying 
about  in  all  directions,  which  lasted  for  several  mo- 
ments, when  one  of  them  fell.  It  was  the  captain ; 
for  the  strong  and  skilful  arm  of  Mr.  Trevor  had 
thrust  his  sword  nearly  up  to  the  hilt  in  the  side  of  his 
antagonist.  His  very  heart  was  cloven !  The  un- 
fortunate young  man  fell  without  uttering  a  groan — 
his  sword  dropped  from  his  grasp— he  pressed  his 
right  hand  to  his  heart — and  with  a  quivering  motion 
of  the  lips,'  as  if  struggling  to  speak,  expired !  "  Oh, 
my  great  God !"  exclaimed  Trevor,  in  a  broken  and 
hollow  tone,  with  a  face  so  blanched  and  horror- 
stricken  that  it  froze  my  very  blood  to  look  upon ; 
"what  have  I  done?  Can  all  this  be  real?"  He 
continued  on  his  knees  by  the  side  of  his  fallen  an- 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  91 

tagonist,  with  his  hands'clasped  convulsively,  and  his 

eyes  glaring  upwards  for  several  moments. 

***         ***** 

A  haze  of  horror  is  spread  over  that  black  transac- 
tion; and  if  it  is  dissipated  for  an  instant  when  my 
mind's  eye  suddenly  looks  back  through  the  vista  of 
years,  the  scene  seems  rather  the  gloomy  representa- 
tion or  picture  of  some  occurrence  which  I  cannot 
persuade  myself  that  I  actually  zvitnessed.  To  this 
hour,  when  I  advert  to  it  I  am  not  free  from  firs  of 
incredulousness.  The  affair  created  a  great  ferment 
at  the  time.  The  unhappy  survivor  (who  in  this  nar- 
rative has  passed  under  the  name  of  Trevor)  instantly 
left  England,  and  died  in  the  south  of  France  about 
five  years  afterward,  in  truth,  broken-hearted.  In  a 
word,  since  that  day  I  have  never  seen  men  entering 
into  discussion,  when  warming  with  wine,  and  ap- 
proaching never  so  slowly  towards  the  confines  of 
formality,  without  reverting  with  a  shudder  to  the 
trifling,  tlie  utterly  insignificant  circumstances  Avhich 
wine  and  the  hot  passions  of  youth  kindled  into  the 

fatal  brawl  which  cost  poor  Captain his  life,  and 

drove  Mr. abroad  to  die  a  broken-hearted  exile. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    BROKEN    HEART. 

Intriguing  and  Madness. 

When  I  have  seen  a  beautiful  and  popular  actress, 
I  have  often  thought  how  many  young  play-goers 
these  women  must  intoxicate — how  many  even  sen- 
sible and  otherwise  sober  heads  they  must  turn 
upside  down !    Some  years  ago,  a  case  came  under 


93  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

itiy  care  which  showed  fully  the  justness  of  this're- 
ilection ;  and  I  now  relate  it,  as  I  consider  it  pregnant 
both  with  interest  and  instruction.  It  will  show  how 
the  energies  of  even  a  powerful  and  well-informed 
mind  may  be  prostrated  by  the  indulgence  of  un- 
bridled passions.  Late  one  evening  in  November,  I 
was  summoned  in  haste  to  visit  a  gentleman  who  was 
staying  at  one  of  the  hotels  in  Covent  Garden,  and 
informed  in  a  note  that  he  had  manifested  symptoms 
of  insanity.     As  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost  in  such 

cases,  I  hurried  to  the hotel,  which  I  reached 

about  nine  o'clock.  The  proprietor  gave  me  some 
preliminary  information  about  the  patient  to  whom  I 
was  summoned,  which,  with  what  I  subsequenlly 
gleaned  from  the  party  himself,  and  other  quarters,  I 
shall  present  connectedly  to  the  reader,  before  intro- 
ducing him  to  the  sick  man's  chamber. 

Mr.  Warningham — for  that  name  may  serve  to 
indicate  him  through  this  narrative — was  a  young 
man  of  considerable  fortune,  some  family,  and  a 

member  of College,  Cambridge.     His  person  and 

manners  were  gentlemanly ;  and  his  countenance, 
without  possessing  any  claims  to  the  character  of 
handsome,  faithfully  indicated  a  powerful  and  culti- 
vated mind.  He  had  mingled  largely  in  college 
gayeties  and  dissipations,  but  knew  little  or  nothing 
of  what  is  called  "  town-life;"  which  may,  in  a  great 
measure,  account  for  much  of  the  simplicity  and  ex- 
travagance of  the  conduct  I  am  about  to  relate. 
Having  from  his  youth  upwards  been  accustomed 
to  the  instant  gratification  of  almost  every  wish  he 
could  form,  the  slightest  obstacle  in  his  way  was  suf- 
ficient to  irritate  him  almost  to  phrensy.  His  tem- 
perament was  very  ardent,  his  imagination  lively  and 
active.  In  short,  he  passed  every  where  for  what  he 
really  was — a  veiy  clever  man — extensively  read  in 
elegant  literature,  and  particularly  intimate  with  the 
dramatic  writers.  About  a  fortnight  before  the  day 
on  which  I  was  summoned  to  him,  he  had  come  up 


DIARY    of' A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  93 

from  college  to  visit  a  young  lady  whom  he  was 
addressing;  but  finding  her  unexpectedly  gone  to 
Paris,  he  resolved  to  continue  in  London  the  whole 
time  he  had  proposed  to  himself,  and  enjoy  all  the 
amusements  about  town — particularly  the  theatres. 
The  evening  of  the  day  on  which  he  amved  at  the 

hotel,  beheld  him"^  at  DrurjMane,  witnessing  a 

new  and,  as  the  event  proved,  a  very  powerful  tra- 
gedy.    In  the  afterpiece,  Miss was  a  prominent 

performer ;  and  her  beauty  of  person — her  "madden- 
ing eyes,"  as  Mr.  AYarningham  often  called  them — 
added  to  her  fascinating  naivete  of  manner,  and  the 
interesting  character  she  sustained  that  evening — at 
once  laid  prostrate  poor  ]Mr.  Warningham  among  the 
throng  of  worshippers  at  the  feet  of  this  "  Diana  of 
the  Ephesians." 

As  he  found  she  played  again  the  next  evening,  he 
took  care  to  engage  the  stage-box;  and  fancied  he 
had  succeeded  in  attracting  her  attention.  He  thought 
her  lustrous  eyes  fell  on  him  several  times  during  the 
evening,  and  that  they  were  instantly  withdrawn, 
with  an  air  of  conscious  confusion  and  embarrass- 
ment, from  the  intense  and  passionate  gaze  which 
they  encountered.  This  was  sufficient  to  fire  the 
train  of  Mr.  Warningham's  susceptible  feelings ;  and 
his  whole  heart  was  in  a  blaze  instantly.  Miss  — :— 
sung  that  evening  one  of  her  favourite  songs — an 
exquisitely  pensive  and  beautiful  air ;  and  ]Mr.  Warn- 
ingham, almost  frantic  with  excitement,  applauded 
with  such  obstreperous  vehemence,  and  continued 
shouting  "  encore — encore'''' — so  long  after  the  general 
calls  of  the  house  had  ceased,  as  to  attract  all  eyes 

for  an  instant  to  his  box.     Miss could  not,  of 

course,  fail  to  observe  his  conduct;  and  present^ 
herself  looked  up  with  what  he  considered  a  gratified 
air.  Quivering  with  excitement  and  nervous  irrita- 
bility, Mr.  Warningham  could'scarcely  sit  out  the  rest. 
of  the  play;  and  the. moment  the  cmtain  fell,  he 
hurried  round  to  the  stage  door,  determined  to  wait 


94  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

and  see  her  leave,  for  the  purpose,  if  possible,  of 
speaking  to  her.  He  presently  saw  her  approach  the 
door,  closely  muffled,  veiled,  and  bonneted,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  a  man  of  military  appearance,  who 
handed  her  into  a  very  gay  chariot.     He  perceived 

at  once  that  it  was  the  well-known  Captain . 

"Will  it  be  believed  that  this  enthusiastic  young  man 
actually  jumped  up  behind  the  carriage  which  con- 
tained the  object  of  his  idolatrous  homage,  and  did 
not  alight  till  it  drew  up  opposite  a  large  house  in  the 
western  suburbs;  and  that  this  absurd  feat,  more- 
over, was  performed  amid  an  incessant  shower  of 
small  searching  rain  1  He  was  informed  by  the  foot- 
man, whom  he  had  bribed  with  five  shillings,  that 

Miss 's  own  house  was  in  another  part  of  the 

town,  and  that  her  stay  at  Captain 's  was  only 

for  a  day  or  two.  He  returned  to  his  hotel  in  a  state 
of  tumultuous  excitement,  which  can  be  better  con- 
ceived than  described.  As  may  be  supposed,  he  slept 
little  that  night ;  and  the  first  thing  he  did  in  the 
morning  was  to  despatch  his  groom,  with  orders  to 
establish  him^self  in  some  public-house  which  could 

command  a  view  of  Miss 's  residence,  and  return 

to  Covent  Garden  as  soon  as  he  had  seen  her  or  her 
maid  enter.  It  was*  not  till  seven  o'clock  that  he 
brought  word  to  his  master,  that  no  one  had  entered 

but  Miss 's  maid.    The  papers  informed  him  that 

Miss played  again  that  evening;  and  though  he 

could  not  but  be  aware  of  the  sort  of  intimacy  which 
subsisted  between  Miss and  the  captain,  his  en- 
thusiastic passion  only  increased  with  increasing 
obstacles.  Though  seriously  unwell  with  a  determi- 
nation of  blood  to  the  head,  induced  by  the  perpetual 
excitement  of  his  feelings,  and  a  severe  cold  caught 
through  exposure  to  the  rain  on  the  preceding  eve- 
ning— he  was  dressing  for  the  play,  when,  to  his 
infinite  mortification,  his  friendly  medical  attendant 
happening  to  step  in  positively  forbade  his  leaving 
his  room,  and  consigned  him  to  bed  and  physic, 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  95 

instead  of  the  maddening  scenes  of  the  theatre.  The 
next  morning  he  felt  reheved  from  the  more  urgent 
symptoms ;  and  his  serv^ant  having  brought  him  word 

that  he  had  at  last  watched  Miss enter  her  house, 

unaccompanied,  except  by  her  maid,  Mr.  Waming- 
ham  despatched  him  with  a  copy  of  passionate  verses, 
enclosed  in  a  blank  envelope.  He  trusted  that  some 
adroit  allusions  in  them,  might  possibly  give  her  a 
clew  to  the  discovery  of  the  writer — especially  if  he 
could  contrive  to  be  seen  by  her  that  evening  in  the 
same  box  he  had  occupied  formerly ;  for  to  the  play 
he  was  resolved  to  go,  in  defiance  of  the  threats  of 
his  medical  attendant.  To  his  vexation  he  found 
the  box  in  question  pre-engaged  for  a  family  party : 
and — will  it  be  credited? — he  actually  entertained 
the  idea  of  discovering  who  they  were,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  prevailing  on  them  to  vacate  in  his  favour ! 
Finding  that,  however,  of  course  out  of  the  question, 
he  was  compelled  to  content  himself  with  the  corres- 
ponding box  opposite,  where  he  was  didy  ensconced 
the  moment  the  doors  were  opened. 

Miss appeared  that  evening  in  only  one  piece, 

but  in  the  course  of  it  she  had  to  sing  some  of  her 
most  admired  songs.  The  character  she  played, 
also,  was  a  favourite  both  with  herself  and  the  public. 
Her  dress  was  exquisitely  tasteful  and  picturesque, 
and  calculated  to  set  off  her  figure  to  the  utmost 
advantage.  \Yhen,  at  a  particular  crisis  of  the 
play,  Mr.  Warningham,  by  the  softened  lustre  of  the 

lowered  foot-lights,  beheld  ^Nliss emerging  from 

a  romantic  glen  with  a  cloak  thrown  over  her 
shoulders,  her  head  covered  with  a  velvet  cap,  over 
which  drooped,  in  snowy  pendency,  an  ostrich- 
feather,  while  her  hair  strayed  from  beneath  the 
cincture  of  her  cap  in  loose  negligent  curls,  down 
her  face  and  beautiful  cheeks;  when  he  saw  the 
timid  and  alarmed  air  which  her  part  required  her  to 
assume,  and  the  sweet  and  sad  expression  of  her 
eyes,  while  she  stole  about  as  if  avoiding  a  pursuer ; 


96  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

— when,  at  length,  as  the  raised  foot-lights  were  re^ 
stored  to  their  former  glare,  she  let  fall  the  cloak 
which  had  enveloped  her,  and,  like  a  metamorphosed 
chrysalis,  burst  in  beauty  on  the  applauding  house, 
habited  in  a  costume,  which,  without  being  positively 
indeHcate,  was  calculated  to  excite  the  most  volup- 
tuous thoughts ; — when,  I  say,  poor  Mr.  Warningham 
saw  all  this  he  was  almost  overpowered,  and  leaned 
back  in  his  box,  breathless  Avith  agitation. 

A  little  before  Miss quitted  the  stage  for  the 

last  time  that  evening,  the  order  of  the  play  required 
that  she  should  stand  for  some  minutes  on  that  part 
of  the  stage  next  to  Mr.  Warningham's  box.  While 
she  was  standing  in  a  pensive  attitude,  with  her  face 
turned  full  towards  Mr.  Warningham,  he  whispered, 
in  a  quivering  and  under-tone, — "  Oh,  beautiful,  beau- 
tiful creature !"    Miss heard  Mm,  looked  at  him 

with  a  little  surprise;  her  features  relaxed  into  a 
smile,  and,  with  a  gentle  shake  of  the  head,  as  if 
hinting  that  he  should  not  endeavour  to  distract  her 
attention,  she  moved  away  to  proceed  with  her  part.. 
IMr.  Warningham  trembled  violently ;  he  fancied  she 
encouraged  his  attentions — and,  God  knows  how — 
had  recognised  in  him  the  writer  of  the  verses  she 
had  received.  When  the  play  was  over,  he  hurried 
as  on  a  former  occasion  to  the  stage-door,  where  he 
mingled  with  the  inquisitive  little  throng  usually  to 
be  found  there,  and  waited  till  she  made  her  appear- 
ance, enveloped  as  before  in  a  large  shawl,  but  fol- 
lowed only  by  a  maid-servant,  carrying  a  bandbox. 
They  stepped  into  a  hackney-coach,  and,  though  Mr. 
Warningham  had  gone  there  for  the  express  purpose 
of  speaking  to  her,  his  knees  knocked  together,  and 
he  felt  so  sick  with  agitation  that  he  did  not  even 
attempt  to  hand  her  into  the  coach.  He  jumped  into 
the  one  which  drew  up  next,  and  ordered  the  coach- 
man to  follow  the  preceding  one  wherever  it  went. 
When  it  approached  the  street  where  he  knew  she 
resided,  he  ordered  it  to  stop,  got  out,  and  hurried  on 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE  PHYSICLA.N.  97 

foot  towards  the  house,  which  he  reached  just  as'she 
was  alighting-.  He  offered  her  his  arm.  She  looked 
at  him  with  astonishment,  and  something  like  appre- 
hension. At  length,  she  appeared  to  recognise  in 
him  the  person  who  had  attracted  her  attention  by 
whispering  when  at  the  theatre,  and  seemed,  he 
thought,  a  little  discomposed.  She  declined  his  prof- 
fered assistance,  said  her  maid  was  with  her;  and  was 
going  to  knock  at  the  door,  when  Mr.  Warningham 
stammered,  faintly,  "  Dear  madam,  do  allow  me  the 
honour  of  calling  in  the  morning,  and  inquiring  how 
you  are  after  the  great  exertions  at  the  theatre  this 
evening !"  She  replied,  in  a  cold  and  discouraging 
manner;  could  not  conceive  to  what  she  was  in- 
debted for  the  honour  of  his  particular  attentions,  and 
interest  in  her  welfare,  so  suddenly  felt  by  an  utter 
stranger — unusual — singular — improper — mipleasant 
— &c.  She  said  that  as  for  his  calling  in  the  morn- 
ing, if  he  felt  so  inclined,  she,  of  course,  could  not 
prevent  him  ;  but  if  he  expected  to  see  her  when  he 
called,  he  would  find  himself  "  perfectly  mistaken." 
The  door  that  moment  was  opened,  and  closed  upon 
her,  as  she  made  liim  a  cold  bow,  leaving  Mr.  Warn- 
ingham, what  with  chagrin  and  excessive  passion 
for  her,  almost  distracted.  He  seriously  assured 
me  that  he  M^alked  to  and  fro  before  her  door  till 
nearly  six  o'clock  in  the  morning;  that  he  repeatedly 
ascended  the  steps,  and  endeavoured,  as  nearly  as 
he  could  recollect,  to  stand  on  the  very  spot  she  had 
occupied  while  speaking  to  him,  and  would  remain 
gazing  at  what  he  fancied  was  the  window  of  her 
bedroom  for  ten  minutes  together ;  and  all  this  ex- 
travagance, to  boot,  Avas  perpetrated  amid  an  inces- 
sant fall  of  snow,  and  at  a  time — Heaven  save  the 

mark — when  he  was  an  accepted  suitor  of  Miss , 

the  young  lady  whom  he  had  come  to  town  for  the 
express  purpose  of  visiting !  I  several  times  asked 
him  how  it  was  that  he  could  bring  himself  to  con- 
sider such  conduct  consistent  with  honoiur  or  delU 
I 


98  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

cacy,  or  feel  a  spark  of  real  attachment  for  the  lady 
to  whom  he  was  eng-aged,  if  it  was  not  sufficient  to 
steel  his  heart  and  close  his  eyes  against  the  charms 
of  any  other  woman  in  the  world  ?  His  only  reply 
was,  that  he  "  really  could  not  help  it ;" — he  felt 

"  rather  the  patient,  than  agent."    Miss took  his 

heart,  he  said,  by  storm,  and  forcibly  ejected,  for  a 
while,  his  love  for  any  other  woman  breathing ! 

To  return,  however:  About  half  past  six,  he 
jumped  into  a  hackney-coach  which  happened  to  be 
passing  through  the  street,  drove  home  to  the  hotel 
in  Covent  Garden,  and  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  in 
a  state  of  utter  exhaustion  both  of  mind  and  body. 
He  slept  on  heavily  till  twelve  o'clock  at  noon,  when 
he  awoke  seriously  indisposed.  In  the  first  few  mo- 
ments, he  could  not  dispossess  himself  of  the  idea 

that  Miss was  standing  by  his  bedside,  in  the 

dress  she  wore  the  preceding  evening,  and  smiled 
encouragingly  on  him.  So  strong  was  the  delusion, 
that  he  actually  addressed  several  sentences  to  her  ! 
About  three  o'clock  he  drove  out,  and  called  on  one 
of  his  gay  friends,  who  was  perfectly  aufait  at  mat- 
ters of  this  sort,  and  resolved  to  make  him  his  con- 
fidant in  the  affair.  Under  the  advice  of  this  mentor, 
Mr.  Warningham  purchased  a  very  beautiful  emerald 

ring,  v/hich  he  sent  off"  instantly  to  Miss ,  with  a 

polite  note,  saying  it  was  some  slight  acknowledg-. 
ment  of  the  dehght  with  which  he  witnessed  her  ex- 
quisite acting,  &c.  &c.  &c.  This,  his  friend  assured 
him,  must  call  forth  an  answer  of  some  sort  or  other, 
which  would  lead  to  another — and  another — and 
another — and  so  on.  He  was  right.  A  twopenny- 
post  letter  was  put  into  Mr.  Warningham's  hands  the 
next  morning  before  he  rose,  which  was  from  Miss 

,  elegantly  written,  and  thanked  him  for  the 

"  tasteful  present"  he  had  sent  her,  which  she  should, 
with  great  pleasure,  take  an  early  opportunity  of 
gratifying  him  by  wearing  in  public.  There  never 
yet  lived  an  actress,  I  verily  believe,  who  had  forti- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  99 

tude  enoiigh  to  refuse  a  present  of  jewelry !  WTiat 
was  to  be  done  next?  He  did  not  exactly  know. 
But  having-  succeeded  at  last  in  opening  an  avenue 
of  communication  with  her,  and  induced  her  so 
easily  to  lie  under  an  obligation  to  him,  he  felt  con- 
vinced that  his  way  Avas  now  clear.  He  determined, 
therefore,  to  call  and  see  her  that  ver>^  afternoon ; 
but  his  medical  friend,  seeing  the  state  of  feverish 
excitement  in  which  he  continued,  absolutely  inter- 
dicted him  from  leaving  the  house.  The  next  day 
he  felt  considerably  better,  but  was  not  allowed  to 
leave  the  house.  He  could,  therefore,  find  no  other 
means  of  consoling  himself,  than  writing  a  note  to 

Miss ,  saying  he  had  "  something  important"  to 

communicate  to  Tier,  and  begging  to  know  when  she 
would  permit  him  to  wait  upon  her  for  that  purpose. 
What  does  the  reader  imagine  this  pretext  of  "  some- 
thing important"  was  1  To  ask  her  to  sit  for  her 
portrait  to  a  young  artist !  His  stratagem  succeeded ; 
for  he  received,  in  the  course  of  the  next  day,  a 

polite  invitation  to  breakfast  with  INIiss on  the 

next  Sunday  morning;  with  a  hint  that  he  might 

expect  no  other  company,  and  that  Miss was 

"  curious"  to  know  what  his  particular  business  with 
her  was.  Poor  Mr.  Warningham  !  How  was  he  to 
exist  in  the  interval  between  this  day  and  Sunday  ? 
He  would  fain  have  annihilated  it ! 

Sunday  morning  ai  last  arrived ;  and  about  nine 
o'clock  he  sallied  from  his  hotel,  the  first  time  he  had 
left  it  for  several  days,  and  drove  to  the  house. 
With  a  fluttering  heart  he  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
a  maid-servant  ushered  him  into  an  elegant  apart- 
ment, in  which  breakfast  was  laid.  An  elderly  lady, 
some  female  relative  of  the  actress,  was  reading  a 

newspaper  at  the  breakfast-table ;   and  Miss 

herself  Avas  seated  at  the  piano,  practising  one  of 
those  exquisite  songs  which  had  been  listened  to 
with  breathless  rapture  by  thousands.    She  wore  aa 


100  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

elegant  morning  dress;  and  though  her  infatuated 
visiter  had  come  prepared  to  see  her  to  great  disad- 
vantage— divested  of  the  dazzhng  complexion  she 
exhibited  on  the  stage — her  pale,  and  somewhat 
sallow  features,  which  wore  a  pensive  and  fatigued 
expression,  served  to  rivet  the  chains  of  his  admira- 
tion still  stronger,  with  the  feelings  of  sympathy. 
H«r  beautiful  eyes  beamed  on  him  with  sweetness 
and  affability ;  and  there  was  an  ease,  a  gentleness 
in  her  manners,  and  a  soft  animating  tone  in  her 
voice,  which  filled  Mr.  Warningham  with  emotions 
of  indescribable  tenderness.  A  few  moments  beheld 
them  seated  at  the  breakfast-table ;  and  when  Mr. 
Warningham  gazed  at  his  fair  hostess,  and  reflected 
on  his  envied  contiguity  to  one  whose  beauty  and 
talents  were  the  theme  of  universal  admiration — 
listened  to  her  lively  and  varied  conversation,  and 
perceived  a  faint  crimson  steal  for  an  instant  over 
her  countenance,  when  he  reminded  her  of  his  excla- 
mation at  the  theatre — he  felt  a  swelling  excitement 
which  would  barely  suffer  him  to  preserve  an  exterior 
calmness  of  demeanour.  He  felt,  as  he  expressed  it — 
(for  he  has  often  recounted  these  scenes  to  me) — that 
she  was  maddening'  him !  Of  course,  he  exerted  him- 
self in  conversation  to  the  utmost ;  and  his  observa- 
tions on  almost  every  topic  of  polite  literature  were 

.met  with  equal  spirit  and  sprightliness  by  Miss . 

He  found  her  fully  capable  of  appreciating  the  noblest 
passages  from  Shakspeare  and  some  of  the  older 
Enghsh  dramatists,  and  that  was  sufficient  to  lay 
enthusiastic  Mr.  Warningham  at  the  feet  of  any 
woman.    He  was  reciting  a  passionate  passage  from 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  to  which  Miss was  listening 

with  an  apparent  air  of  kindling  enthusiasm,  when  a 
phaeton  dashed  up  to  the  door,  and  an  impetuous 
thundering  of  the  knocker  announced  the  arrival  of 
some  aristocratical  visiter.  The  elderly  lady,  who 
was  sitting  with  them,  started,  coloured,  and  ex- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  101 

claimed — "  Good  God,  will  you  receive  the  man  this 
morning  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  only  Lord ,"  exclaimed  Miss , 

with  an  air  of  indifference,  after  having  examined 
the  equipage  through  the  window-blinds, "  and  I  won't 
see  the  man — that's  flat.  He  pesters  me  to  death," 
she  continued,  turning  to  Mr.  \Yamingham,  with  a 
pretty  peevish  air.  It  had  its  effect  on  him. — "  What 
an  enviable  fellow  I  am  to  be  received,  when  lords 
are  refused !"  thought  ^Ir.  Wanimgham. 

"  Not  at  home  !"  drawled  Miss ,  coldly,  as  the 

servant  brought  in  Lord 's  card.     "  You  know 

one  can't  see  e-cery  body,  Mr.  Wamingham,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile.  "  Oh,  INIr.  Warningham, — lud,  lud  ! — 
don't  go  to  the  window  till  the  man's  gone !"  she 
exckimed  ;  and  her  small  white  hand,  with  his  eme- 
rald ring  glisteningonher  second  finger,  was  hurriedly 
laid  on  his  shoulder,  to  prevent  his  going  to  the 
window.  Mr.  Wamingham  declared  to  me  he  could 
that  moment  have  settled  his  whole  fortime  on  her ! 

After  the  breakfast  things  were  removed,  she  sat 
dou'n,  at  his  request,  to  the  piano — a  very  magnifi- 
cent present  from  the  Duke  of ,  Mrs. as- 
sured him, — and  sung  and  played  whatever  he  asked. 
She  played  a  certain  well-known  arch  air,  with  the 
most  bewitching  simplicity ;  iNIr.  Warningham  could 
only  look  his  feelings.  As  she  concluded  it,  and  was 
dashing  off  the  symphony  in  a  careless,  but  rapid 

and  brilliant  style,  Mrs. ,  the  lady  once  or  twice 

before  mentioned,  left  the  room;  and  IMr.  Warnmg- 
ham,  scarce  knowing  what  he  did,  suddenly  sunk  on 
one  knee,  from  the  chair  on  which  he  was  sitting  by 
Miss ,  grasped  her  hand,  and  uttered  some  ex- 
clamation of  passionate  fondness.     Miss turned 

to  him  a  moment  with  a  sui-prised  air,  her  large, 
liquid  blue  eyes  almost  entirely  hid  beneath  her  half- 
closed  lids,  her  features  relaxed  into  a  coquettish 
smile :  she  disengaged  her  hand,  and  went  on  playing 

12 


102  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

"  He  sighs—'  Beauty !  I  adore  thee, 
See  me  fainting  thus  before  thee ;' 
But  I  say— 

Fal,  lal,  lal,  la !    Fal,  lal,  lal,  la ! 

Fal  lal,  &c.'' 

"Fascinating,  nnorplic  woman!  glorious  creature 
of  intellect  and  ucciuty,  I  cannot  live  but  in  your 
presence !"  gasped  Mr.  Warningham. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  what  an  actor  you  would  have  made, 
Mr.  Warningham — indeed  you  would !  Only  think 
how  it  would  sound — '  Romeo,  Mr.  Warningham .'' — 
Lud,  lud — the  man  would  almost  persuade  me  that 

he  was  in  earnest !"  replied  Miss ,  with  the  most 

enchanting  air,  and  ceased  playing.  Mr.  Warning- 
ham continued  addressing  her  in  the  most  extrava- 
gant manner ;  indeed,  he  afterward  told  me,  he  felt 
"as  though  his  wits  were  slipping  from  him  every 
instant." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  on  the  stage,  Mr.  Warning- 
ham V  inquired  Miss ,  with  a  more  earnest  and 

serious  air  than  she  had  hitherto  manifested,  and 
gazing  at  him  with  an  eye  which  expressed  real  ad- 
miration,— for  she  was  touched  by  the  winning,  per- 
suasive, and  passionate  eloquence  with  which  Mr. 
Warningham  expi  ^ssed  himself.  She  had  hardly 
uttered  the  words,  when  a  loud  and  long  knock  was 

heard  at  the  street  door.     Miss suddenly  started 

from  the  piano;  turned  pale,  and  exclaimed  in  a 
hurried  and  agitated  tone,—"  Lord,  Lord,  what's 

to  be  done  ! — Captain ! — whatever  can  have 

brought  him  up  to  town — oh,  my " 

"  Good  God,  madam,  what  can  possibly  alarm  you 
in  this  manner  V  exclaimed  Mr.  Warningham,  with  a 
surprised  air.    "  What  in  the  earth  can  there  be  in  this 

Captain to  startle  you  in  this  manner  T    What 

can  the  man  want  here  if  his  presence  is  disagree- 
able to  you  %   Pray,  madam,  give  him  the  same  answer 

you  gave  Lord !"    "  Oh,  Mr.  Warn —  dear,  dear ! 

the  door  is  opened — what  will  become  of  me  if  Cap- 


DIARY  OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  103 

lain sees  you  here  1    Ah !  I  have  it — you  must 

— country  manager — provincial   enga — "  hurriedly 

muttered  Miss ,  as  the  room-door  opened,  and 

a  gentleman  of  a  lofty  and  military  bearing,  dressed 
in  a  blue  surtout  and  Avhite  trousers,  with  a  slight 
•walking  cane  in  his  hand,  entered,  and  without  ob- 
serving Mr.  Wamingham,  who  at  the  moment  hap- 
pened to  be  standing  rather  behind  the  door,  hurried 

towards  Miss ,  exclaiming,  with  a  gay  and  fond 

air,  "  Ha,  my  charming  De  Medici,  how  d'ye  1 — 

WTiy,  who  the have  we  here  .^"  he  inquired, 

suddenly  breaking  off,  and  turning  with  an  aston- 
ished air  towards  Mr.  Wamingham. 

"What  possible  business  can  this  person  have  here. 

Miss 1"   inquired  the  captain,  with  a  cold  and 

angry  air,  letting  fall  her  hand,  which  he  had  grasped 
on  entering,  and  eying  Mr.  Wamingham  with  a 
furious  scowl.  Miss muttered  something  in- 
distinctly about  business — a  provincial  engagement 
— and  looked  appealingly  towards  Mr.  Wamingham, 
as  if  beseeching  him  to  take  the  cue,  and  assume  the 
character  of  a  country  manager.  Mr.  Wamingham, 
however,  was  not  experienced  enough  in  matters  of 
this  kind  to  take  the  hint. 

"  My  good  sir — I  beg  pardon,  captain" — said  he, 
buttoning  his  coat,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  almost 
choked  with  fury — "  Avhat  is  the  meamng  of  all  this  1 
What  do  3^ou  mean,  sir,  by  this  insolent  bearing  to- 
wards me  ?" 

"  Good  God  !  Do  you  know,  sir,  whom  you  are 
speaking  to  V  inquired  the  captain,  with  an  air  of 
wonder. 

"  1  care  as  little  as  I  know,  sir;  but  this  I  know — 
I  shall  give  3^ou  to  understand  that,  wlioever  you  are, 
I  won't  be  hullied  by  you." 

"  The  devil !"  exclaimed  the  captain,  slowly,  as 
if  he  hardly  comprehended  what  M-as  passing.     Miss 

,  pale  as  a  statue,  and  trembling  from  head  to 

foot,  leaned  speechless  against  the  comer  of  the 


104  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

piano,  apparently  stupified  by  the  scene  that  was 
passing. 

"  Oh,  by !  this  will  never  do,"  at  length  ex- 
claimed the  captain,  as  he  rushed  up  to  Mr.  Warn- 
ingham,  and  struck  him  furiously  over  the  shoulders 
with  his  cane.  He  was  going  to  seize  Mr.  Warning- 
ham's  collar  with  his  left  hand,  as  if  for  the  purpose 
of  inflicting  further  chastisement,  when  Mr.  Warn- 
ingham,  who  was  a  very  muscular  man,  shook  him 
off,  and  dashed  his  right  hand  full  into  the  face  of  the 

captain.     Miss  ■ shrieked  for  assistance — ^while 

the  captain  put  himself  instantly  into  attitude,  and 
being  a  first-rate  "  miller,"  as  the  phrase  is,  before 
Mr.  Warningham  could  prepare  himself  for  the  en- 
counter, planted  a  sudden  shower  of  blows  about 
Mr.  Warningham's  head  and  breast,  that  fell  on  him 
like  the  strokes  of  a  sledge-hammer.  He  was  of 
course  instantly  laid  prostrate  on  the  floor  in  a  state 
of  insensibility,  and  recollected  nothing  further  till 

he  found  himself  lying  on  his  bed  at  the hotel, 

about  the  middle  of  the  night,  faint  and  weak  with- 
the  loss  of  blood,  his  head  bandaged,  and  amid  all  the 
paraphernalia  and  attendance  of  a  sick  man's  chamber. 
How  or  when  he  had  been  conveyed  to  the  hotel  he 
knew  not,  till  he  was  informed  some  weeks  after- 
ward that  Captain ,  having  learned  his  residence 

from  Miss ,  had  brought  him  in  his  carriage,  in  a 

state  of  stupor.  All  the  circumstances  above  related 
combined  to  throw  Mr.  Warningham  into  a  fever, 
which  increased  upon  him  ;  the  state  of  nervous  ex- 
citement in  which  he  had  lived  for  the  last  few  days 
aggravated  the  other  symptoms — and  delirium  at  last 
deepened  into  downriglit  madness.  The  medical 
man,  who  has  been  several  times  before  mentioned 
as  a  friendly  attendant  of  Mr.  Warningham,  finding 
that  matters  grew  so  serious,  and  being  unwilling 
any  longer  to  bear  the  sole  responsibility  of  the  case, 
advised  Mr.  Warningham's  friends,  who  had  been 
summoned  from  a  distant  county  to  his  bedside,  to 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  105 

call  me  in ;  and  this  was  the  statu  quo  of  affairs  when 
I  paid  him  my  first  visit. 

On  entering  the  room,  I  found  a  keeper  sitting  on 
each  side  of  the  bed  on  which  lay  Mr.  Warningham, 
who  was  raving  frightfully,  gnashing  his  teeth,  and 
imprecating  the  most  fearful  cmses  upon  Captain 

.     It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  the 

keepers  could  hold  him  down,  even  though  my  un- 
fortunate patient  was  suffering  under  the  restraint 
of  a  strait  waistcoat.  His  coimtenance,  which  I 
think  I  mentioned  was  naturally  very  expressive, 
if  not  handsome,  exhibited  the  most  ghastly  contor- 
tions. His  eyes  glared  into  every  corner  of  the  room, 
and  seemed  about  to  start  from  their  sockets.  After 
standing  for  some  moments  a  silent  spectator  of  this 
painful  scene,  endeavouring  to  watch  the  current  of 
his  malady,  and  at  the  same  time  soothe  the  affliction 
of  his  uncle,  who  was  standing  by  my  side  dreadfully 
agitated,  I  ventured  to  approach  nearer,  observing 
him  nearly  exhausted,  and  relapsing  into  silence — 
undisturbed  but  by  heavy  and  stertorous  breathing. 
He  lay  with  his  face  buried  in  the  pillow ;  and  on  my 
putting  my  fingers  to  his  temples,  he  suddenly  turned 
his  face  towards  me.  "  God  bless  me — Mr.  Kean  !" 
said  he,  in  an  altered  tone,  "this  is  really  a  very 
unexpected  honour!"  He  seemed  embarrassed  at 
seeing  me.  I  determined  to  humour  his  fancy,^the 
only  rational  method  of  dealing  with  such  patients. 
J  may  as  well  say,  in  passing,  that  some  persons 
have  not  unfrequently  found  a  resemblance — faint 
and  slight,  if  any  at  all — between  my  features  and 
those  of  the  celebrated  tragedian  for  whom  I  was  on 
the  present  occasion  mistaken. 

"  Oh,  yours  are  terrible  eyes,  Mr.  Kean — very,  very 
terrible !  Where  did  you  get  them  1  What  fiend 
touched  them  with  such  unnatural  lustre  ?  These 
are  not  human — no,  no !  What  do  you  think  I  have 
often  fancied  they  resembled  ?" 


106  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

"  Really,  I  can't  pretend  to  say,  sir,"  I  replied,  -with 
some  curiosity. 

"  Wl^y,  one  of  the  damned  inmates  of  hell— glaring 
through  the  fiery  bars  of  their  prison,"  replied  Mr. 
Wamingham,  with  a  shudder.  "  Isn't  that  a  ghastly 
fancy  1"  he  inquired. 

"  'Tis  horrible  enough,  indeed,"  said  I,  determined 
to  humour  him. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! — Ha,  ha,  ha !"  roared  the  wretched 
maniac,  with  a  laugh  which  made  us  all  quake  round 
his  bedside.     "  I  can  say  better  things  than  that, — 

though  it  is  d d  good ;  it's  nothing  like  the  way  in 

"Which  I  shall  talk  to-morrow  morning — ha,  ha,  ha  I — 
for  I  am  going  down  to  hell,  to  learn  some  of  the 
fiends'  talk ;  and  wlien  I  come  back,  I'll  give  you  a 
lesson,  Mr.  Kean,  shall  be  worth  two  thousand  a-year 
to  you — ha,  ha,  ha !     What  d'ye  say  to  that,  Othello  ?" 

He  paused,  and  continued  mumbling  something  to 
himself  in  a  strangely  different  tone  of  voice  from 
that  in  which  he  had  just  addressed  me. 

"  Mr.  Kean,  IMr.  Kean,"  said  he,  suddenly,  "  you're 
the  very  man  I  want ;  I  suppose  they  had  told  you  I 
had  been  asking  for  you,  eh  ]" 

"  Yes,  certainly,  I  heard" — 

"  Very  good — 'twas  civil  of  them ;  but,  now  you 
are  here,  just  shade  those  basilisk  eyes  of  yours,  for 
they  blight  my  soul  within  me."  I  did  as  he  di- 
rected— "  Now,  I'll  tell  you  w^hat  I've  been  thinking 
— I've  got  a  tragedy  ready,  very  nearly  at  least,  and 
there's  a  magnificent  cliaracter  for  you  in  it, — ex- 
pressly written  for  you — a  compound  of  Richard, 
Shylock,  and  Sir  Giles — your  masterpieces — a  sort 
of  quartum  quiddam — eh — you  hear  me,  Mr.  Kean  1" 

"Ay,  and  mark  thee,  too,  Hal,"  thinking  a  quota- 
tion from  his  favourite  Shakspeare  would  soothe  and 
flatter  his  inflamed  fancy. 

"  Ah — aptly  quoted — happy,  happy  !  By-the-way, 
talking  of  that,  I  don't  at  all  admire  your  personation 
of  Macbeth — by ,  Mr.  Kean,  I  don't.    'Tis  ut- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  107 

terly  misconceived — wrong  from  beginning  to  end ; 
it  is,  really.  You  see  what  an  independent,  straight- 
forward critic  I  am — ha,  ha,  ha !"  accompanying  the 
words  with  a  laugh,  if  not  as  loud,  as  fearful  as  his 
fonner  ones.     I  told  him  I  bowed  to  his  judgment. 

"  Good,"  he  answered ;  "  genius  should  always 
be  candid.  Macready  has  a  single  whisper,  when  he 
inquires,  '  Is  it  the  King  ?''  which  is  worth  all  your 
fiendish  mutterings  and  gaspings — ha,  ha  I  '  Does  the 
galled  jade  wince  ?  Her  withers  are  unwrung.'  Mr. 
Kean,  how  absurd  you  are,  ill-mannered,  pardon  me 
for  saying  it,  for  interrupting  me,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause  ;  adding,  with  a  puzzled  air,  "  What  was  it  I 
was  talking  about  when  you  inteiTupted  me  V  "  Do 
you  mean  the  tragedy  ?" — (I  had  not  opened  my  lips 
to  interrupt  him.)     "  Ha  !  the  tragedy ! 

'  The  play,  the  play's  the  thing, 
Wherein  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king.' 

— Ah — the  tragedy  was  it  I  was  mentioning  1  Rem 
acu — acu  tetigisti — that's  Latin,  Mr.  Kean !  Did  you 
ever  learn  Latin  and  Greek,  eh  V  I  told  him  I  had 
studied  it  a  little. 

"  What  can  you  mean  by  interrupting  me  thus  un- 
mannerly ?  Mr.  Kean,  I  won't  stand  it — once  more, 
zn'hat  was  it  I  was  talking  about  a  few  minutes  ago  ]" 
He  had  again  let  slip  the  thread  of  his  thoughts.  "A 
digression  this,  ^Ir.  Kean ;  I  must  be  mad — indeed  I 
must !"  he  continued,  wuth  a  shudder,  and  a  look  of 
sudden  sanity ;  "  I  must  be  mad,  and  I  can't  help 
thinking  what  a  profound  knowledge  of  human  na- 
ture Shakspeare  shows  when  he  makes  memory  the 
test  of  sanity — a  d — d  depth  of  philosophy  in  it,  eh  ? 
d'ye  recollect  the  passage — eh,  Kean  ?"  I  said  I  cer- 
tainly could  not  call  it  to  mind. 

"  Then  it's  infamous — a  shame  and  a  disgrace  for 
you.  It's  quite  true  what  people  say  of  you — you 
are  a  mere  tragedy  hack  !  Why  won't  you  try  to 
get  out  of  that  mill-horse  round  of  your  hackneyed 
characters !    Excuse  me ;  vou  know  I'm  a  vast  ad- 


108  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

mirer  of  yours,  but  an  honest  one.  Curse  me,"  aftei 
a  sudden  pause,  adding  with  a  bewildered  and  angry 
air,  ^^what  was  it  I  was  going-  to  say?  I've  lost  if 
again ! — oh,  a  passage  from  Shakspeare — memory — 
test  of — Ah,  710W  we  have  him  !  'Tis  this : — mark 
and  remember  it — 'tis  in  King  Lear — 


•Bring  me  to  the  test, 


And  I  the  matter  will  re-word,  which  madness 
Would  gambol  from.' 

Profoundly  true ;  isn't  it,  Kean  ?"  Of  course  I  ac- 
quiesced. 

"  Ah,"  he  resumed,  with  a  pleased  smile,  "  nobody 
now  can  write  like  that  except  myself-^go  it,  Harry, 
ha,  ha,  ha! — Who — oo — o!"  uttering  the  strangest 
kmd  of  revolting  cry  I  ever  heard.  "  Oh  dear,  dear 
me,  what  was  it  I  was  saying  1  The  thought  keeps 
slipping  from  me  like  a  lithe  eel;  I  can't  hold  it. 
Eels,  by-the-way,  are  nothing  but  a  sort  of  water- 
snake  ;  'tis  brutal  to  eat  them !  What  made  me  name 
eels,  Mr.  Kean  V  I  reminded  him.  "  Ah,  there  must 
be  a  screw  loose — something  wrong  /tere,"  shaking 
his  head ;  "  it's  all  upside  down — ^ha !  what  the  d — 1 
was  it  now  ?"  I  once  more  recalled  it  to  his  mind, 
for  I  saw  he  was  fretting  himself  with  vexation  at 
being  unable  to  take  up  the  chain  of  his  thoughts. 

"  Ah !  well  now,  once  more — I  said  Fd  a  character 
for  you — good  ;  do  it  justice,  or  d — me,  I'll  hiss  you 
like  a  huge  boa  coiled  in  the  middle  of  the  pit ! — 
There's  a  thought— stay — ^he's  losing  the  thought 
again — hold  it — hold  it." 

"  The  tragedy,  sir." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure !  I've  another  character  for  Miss 
(naming  the  actress  before  mentioned) — magni- 
ficent queen  of  beauty — nightingale  of  song — radiant, 
peerless — Ah,  lady,  look  on  me !  look  on  me  !"  and 
he  suddenly  burst  into  one  of  the  most  tigerlike 
howls  T  could  conceive  capable  of  being  uttered  by 
a  human  being.  It  must  have  been  heard  in  the  street 
and  market  without.    We  v/ho  were  round  him  stood 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  109 

listenings  chilled  with  horror.  When  he  had  ceased, 
I  said,  in  a  soothing  whisper,  "  Compose  yourself, 
Mr.  Warningham,  you'll  see  her  by-and-by."  He 
looked  me  full  in  the  face,  and  uttered  as  shocking  a 
yell  as  before. 

"  Avaunt ! — out  on  ye  ! — scoundrels  ! — fiends  !"  he 
shouted,  struggling  with  the  men  who  were  endea- 
vouring to  hold  him  down ;  "  are  you  come  to  murder 
me  ?  Ha — a — a !"  and  he  fell  back  as  though  he  was 
in  the  act  of  being  choked  or  throttled. 

"  Where — where  is  the  fiend  who  struck  me  ?"  he 
groaned,  in  a  fierce  mider-tone  ;  "  and  in  HER  pre- 
sence, too;  and  she  stood  by  looking  on! — cruel, 
beautiful,  deceitful  woman !  Did  she  turn  pale  and 
tremble]  Oh,  Mdll  not  I  have  his  blood — blood-^ 
blood !"  and  he  clutched  his  fists  with  a  savage  and 
murderous  force.  "  Ah !  you  around  me,  say,  does 
not  blood  cleanse  the  deepest,  foulest  stain,  or  hide 
it  1  Pour  it  on  warm  and  reeking — a  crimson  flood 
— and  never  trust  me  if  it  does  not  wash  out  insult 
for  ever !  Ha — ha — ha  I  Oh,  let  me  loose  !  Let  me 
loose !  Let  me  but  cast  my  eyes  on  the  insolent  ruf- 
fian— the  brutal  bully — let  me  but  lay  hands  on  him !" 
and  he  drew  ui  his  breath  with  a  long,  fierce,  and 
deep  respiration.  "  Will  I  not  shake  liim  out  of  his 
military  trappings  and  fooleries  ]  Ha,  devils !  mihand 
me,  I  say  ;  unhand  me,  and  let  me  loose  on  this  Cap- 
tain   ." 

In  this  strain  the  unhappy  young  man  continued 
raving  for  about  ten  minutes  longer,  till  he  utterly 
exhausted  himself.  The  paroxysm  was  over  for  the 
present.  The  keepers,  aware  of  this  (for  of  course 
they  were  accustomed  to  such  fearful  scenes  as  these, 
and  preserved  the  most  cool  and  matter-of-fact  de- 
meanour conceivable),  relaxed  their  hold.  Mr.  Warn- 
ingham lay  perfectly  motionless,  Avith  his  eyes 
closed,  breaking  slow  and  heavily,  while  the  per- 
spiration burst  from  every  pore.  His  pulse  and  other 
symptoms  showed  me  that  a  few  more  snnilar  par- 
K 


110  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

oxysms  would  destroy  him ;  and  that,  consequently, 
the  most  active  remedies  must  be  had  recourse  to 
immediately.  I  therefore  directed  what  was  to  be 
done  :  his  head  to  be  shaved ;  that  he  should  be  bled 
copiously ;  kept  perfectly  cool  and  tranquil ;  and  pre- 
scribed such  medicines  as  I  conceived  most  calculated 
to  effect  this  object.  On  my  way  down  stairs  I  en- 
countered Mr. ,  the  proprietor  or  landlord  of  the 

hotel,  who,  with  a  very  agitated  air,  told  me  he  must 
insist  on  having  Mr.  Warningham  removed  imme- 
diately from  the  hotel ;  for  that  his  ravings  disturbed 
and  agitated  everybody  in  the  place,  and  had  been 
loudly  complained  of.  Seeing  the  reasonableness  of 
this,  my  patient  was,  with  my  sanction,  conveyed 
that  evening  to  airy  and  genteel  lodgings  in  one  of 
the  adjoining  streets.  The  three  or  four  following 
visits  I  paid  him  presented  scenes  little  varying  from 
the  one  I  have  above  been  attempting  to  describe. 
They  gradually,  however,  abated  in  violence.  I  shall 
not  be  guilty  of  extravagance  or  exaggeration  if  I 
protest  that  there  was  sometimes  a  vein  of  sublimity 
in  his  ravings.  He  really  said  some  of  the  very  finest 
things  I  ever  heard.  This  need  not  occasion  wonder, 
if  it  be  recollected  that  "  out  of  the  fulness  of  the 
heart  the  mouth  speaketh;"  and  Mr.  Warningham's 
naturally  powerful  mind  was  filled  with  accumulated 
stores,  acquired  from  almost  every  region  of  litera- 
ture. His  fancy  was  deeply  tinged  with  Germanism, 
with  diablerie;  and  some  of  liis  ghostly  images  used 
to  haunt  and  creep  after  me  like  spirits,  gibbering 
and  chattering  the  expressions  Avith  which  the  maniac 
had  conjured  them  into  being. 

To  me  nothing  is  so  affecting,  so  terrible,  so  hu- 
mihating,  as  to  see  a  powerful  intellect,  like  that  of 
Mr.  Warningham,  the  prey  of  insanity,  exhibiting 
glimpses  of  greatness  and  beauty  amid  all  the  cha- 
otic gloom  and  havoc  of  madness;  reminding  one  of 
the  mighty  fragments  of  some  dilapidated  structure 
of-  Greece   or  Rome,  mouldering  apart   from    one 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  Ill 

another,  still  displaying  the  exquisite  moulding  and 
chiselling  of  the  artist,  and  enhancing  the  beholder's 
regret  that  so  glorious  a  fabric  should  have  been 
destroyed  by  the  ruthless  hand  of  time.  Insanity, 
indeed,  makes  the  most  fearful  inroads  on  an  intellect 
distinguished  by  its  activity;  and  the  flame  is  fed 
rapidly  by  the  fuel  afforded  from  an  excitable  and 
vigorous  fancy.  A  tremendous  responsibility  is  in- 
curred, in  such  cases,  by  the  medical  attendants. 
Long  experience  has  convinced  me,  that  the  only 
sensible  way  of  dealing  with  such  patients  as  Mr. 
Warningham  is,  chiming  in  readily  with  their  various 
fancies,  without  seeming  in  the  slightest  degree 
shocked  or  alarmed  by  the  most  monstrous  extrava- 
gances. The  patient  must  never  be  startled  by  any 
appearance  of  surprise  or  apprehension  from  those 
around  him ;  never  irritated  by  contradiction  or  indi- 
cations of  impatience.  Should  this  be  done  by  some 
inexperienced  attendant,  the  mischief  may  prove  ir- 
remediable by  any  subsequent  treatment ;  the  flame 
will  blaze  out  with  a  fury  which  will  consume  in- 
stantly every  vestige  of  the  intellectual  structure, 
leaving  the  body — the  shell — bare,  blackened  walls 
alone, 

"  A  scoff,  a  jest,  a  by-word  through  the  -world." 

Let  the  patient  have  sea-room ;  allow  him  to  dash 
about  for  a  while  in  the  tempest  and  whirlwind  of  his 
disordered  faculties ;  M-hile  all  that  is  necessary  from 
those  around  is,  to  watch  the  critical  moment,  and 
pour  the  oil  of  soothing  acquiescence  on  the  foaming 
waters.  Depend  upon  it,  the  uproar  will  subside 
when  the  winds  of  opposition  cease. 

To  return,  however,  to  IMr.  Warningham.  The 
incubus  which  had  brooded  over  liis  intellects  for 
more  than  a  week  at  length  disappeared,  leaving  its 
victim  trembling  on  the  very  verge  of  the  grave.  In 
truth,  I  do  not  recollect  ever  seeing  a  patient  whose 
energies,  both  physical  and  mental,  were  so  dread- 


112  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

fully  shattered.  He  had  lost  almost  all  muscular 
power.  He  could  not  raise  his  hand  to  his  head, 
alter  his  position  in  the  bed,  or  even  masticate  his 
food.  For  several  days  it  could  barely  be  said  that 
he  existed.  He  could  utter  nothing  more  than  an 
almost  inaudible  whisper,  and  seemed  utterly  uncon- 
scious of  Avhat  was  passing  around  him.  His  sister, 
a  young  and  veiy  interesting  woman,  had  flown  to 
his  bedside  immediately  the  family  were  acquainted 
with  his  illness,  and  had  continued  ever  since  in  daily 
and  nightly  attendance  on  him,  till  she  herself  seemed 
almost  worn  out.  How  I  loved  her  for  her  pallid, 
exhausted,  anxious,  yet  affectionate  looks !  Had  not 
this  illness  intervened,  she  would  have  been  before 
this  time  married  to  a  rising  young  man  at  the  bar ; 
yet  her  devoted  sisterly  sympathies  attached  her  to 
her  brother's  bedside  without  repining,  and  she  would 
never  think  of  leaving  him.  Her  feelings  maybe 
conceived,  when  it  is  known  that  she  was  in  a  great 
measure  acquainted  with  the  cause  of  her  brother's 
sudden  illness ;  and  it  was  her  painful  duty  to  sit  and 
listen  to  many  unconscious  disclosures  of  the  most 
afflicting  nature.  This  latter  circumstance  furnished 
the  first  source  of  uneasiness  to  Mr.  Warningham  on 
recovering  the  exercise  of  his  rational  faculties ;  he 
was  excessively  agitated  at  the  idea  of  his  having 
alluded  to  and  described  the  dissipated  and  profligate 
scenes  of  his  college  life ;  and  when  he  had  once 
compelled  me  to  acknowledge  that  his  sister  and 
other  relations  were  apprized  of  the  events  which  led 
to  his  illness,  he  sunk  into  moody  silence  for  some 
time,  evidently  scourging  himself  with  the  heaviest 
self-reproaches,  and  presently  exclaimed — "  Well, 
doctor,  thus  you  see  has 

'  Even-handed  justice . 
Compell'd  the  poisoa'd  chalice  to  my  lips,' 

and  I  have  drunk  the  foul  draught  to  the  dregs !  Yet 
though  I  would  at  this  moment  lay  down  half  my 
fortune  to  blot  from  their  memories  what  they  must 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  113 

have  heard  me  utter,  I  shall  submit  in  silence — I  have 
riclily  earned  it.  I  now,  however,  bid  ''farewell  for 
ever  to  debauchery,  profligacy,  dissipation,  forever!" 
I  interrupted  him  by  saying-,  I  was  not  aware,  nor 
were  his  relatives,  that  he  had  been  publicly  distin- 
guished as  a  debauchee.  "  Why,  doctor,"  he  replied, 
"  possibly  not ;  there  may  be  others  who  have  ex- 
posed themselves  more  absurdly  than  I  have — who 
have  drunk  and  raked  more — but  mine  has  been  the 
vile  profligacy  of  the  heart — the  dissipation  of  the 
feelings.  But  it  shall  cease !  God  knows  I  never 
thoroughly  enjoyed  it,  though  it  has  occasioned  me 
a  delicious  sort  of  excitement  which  has  at  length 
nearly  destroyed  me.  I  have  clambered  out  of  the 
scorching  crater  of  Etna,  scathed,  but  not  consumed. 
I  will  now  descend  into  the  tranquil  vales  of  virtue, 
and  never,  never  leave  them !"  He  wept,  for  he  had 
not  yet  recovered  the  tone  or  mastery  of  his  feelings. 
These  salutary  thoughts  led  to  a  pennanent  reforma- 
tion ;  his  illness  had  produced  its  eff*ect.  One  other 
thing  there  was  which  yet  occasioned  him  disquiet- 
ude and  imcertainty :  he  said  he  felt  bound  to  seek 

the  usual  "satisfaction"  from  Captain  !    I  and 

all  around  him,  to  whom  he  hinted  it,  scouted  the 
idea;  and  he  himself  relinquished  it  on  hearing  that 

Captain had  called  often  during  his  illness,  and 

left  many  cards,  with  the  most  anxious  inquiries  after 
his  health;  and  in  a  day  or  two  had  a  private  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Warningham,  when  he  apologized  in 
the  most  prompt  and  handsome  manner  for  his  vio- 
lent conduct,  and  expressed  the  liveliest  regrets  at 
the  serious  consequences  with  which  it  had  been  at- 
tended. 

Mr.  Warningham,  to  conclude,  recovered  but  slowly ; 
and  as  soon  as  his  weakness  would  admit  of  the  jour- 
ney, removed  to  the  family  house  in shire ;  from 

thence  he  went  to  the  seaside,  and  staid  there  till  the 

close  of  the  autumn,  reading  philosophy  and  some 

of  the  leading  writers  on  morals.    He  was  married 

K2 


114  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

in  October,  and  set  off  for  the  continent  in  the  spring". 
His  constitution,  however,  had  received  a  shock  from 
which  it  never  recovered ;  and  two  years  after  Mr. 
Warningham  died  of  a  decline  at  Genoa. 

The  Broken  Heart. 

There  was-  a  large  and  gay  party  assembled  one 
evening,  in  the  memorable  month  of  June,  1815,  at  a 
house  in  the  remote  western  suburbs  of  London. 
Throngs  of  handsome  and  well-dressed  women — a 
large  retinue  of  the  leading  men  about  Xovm — the 
dazzling  light  of  chandeliers,  blazing  like  three  suns 
overhead — the  charms  of  music  and  dancing — toge- 
ther with  that  tone  of  excitement  then  pervading  so- 
ciety at  large,  owing  to  our  successful  continental 
campaigns  which  maddened  England  into  almost 
daily  annunciations  of  victory; — all  these  circum- 
stances, I  say,  combined  to  supply  spirit  to  every 
party.     In  fact,  England  was  almost  turned  upside 

down  with  universal  feting!     Mrs.  ,  the  lady 

whose  party  I  have  just  iDcen  mentioning,  was  in 
ecstasy  at  the  eclat  with  which  the  whole  was  going 
off,  and  charmed  with  the  buoyant  animation  with 
which  all  seemed  inclined  to  contribute  their  quota 
to  the  evening's  amusement.  A  young  lady  of  some 
personal  attractions,  most  amiable  manners,  and  great 
accomplishments,  particularly  musical,  had  been  re- 
peatedly solicited  to  sit  down  to  the  piano,  for  the 
purpose  of  favouring  the  companv  with  the  favourite 
Scottish  air  "  The  Banks  of  Allan  Waters  For  a  long 
time,  however,  she  steadfastly  resisted  their  impor- 
tunities pn  the  plea  of  low  spirits.  There  was  evi- 
dently an  air  of  deep  pensiveness,  if  not  melancholy, 
about  her,  which  ought  to  have  corroborated  the 
truth  of  the  plea  she  urged.  She  did  not  seem  to 
gather  excitement  with  the  rest,  and  rather  endured 
than  shared  the  gayeties  of  the  evening.  Of  course, 
the  young  folks  around  her  of  her  own  sex  whispered 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  115 

their  suspicions  that  she  was  in  love  ;  and  in  point  of 
fact,  it  was  well  known  by  several  present  that  Miss 

was  eng-aged  to  a, young  officer  who  had  earned 

considerable  distinction  in  the  peninsular  campaign, 
and  to  whom  she  was  to  be  united  on  his  return  from 
the  continent.  It  need  not,  therefore,  be  wondered 
at  that  a  thought  of  the  various  casualties  to  which 
a  soldier's  life  is  exposed, — especially  a  bold  and 
brave  young  soldier,  such  as  her  intended  had  proved 
himself — and  the  possibility,  if  not  probability,  that 
he  might,  alas !  never 

"  Return  to  claim  his  blushing  bride," 

— ^but  be  left  behind  among  the  glorious  throng  of  the 
fallen,  sufficed  to  overcast  her  mind  with  gloomy  anx- 
ieties and  apprehensions.  It  was,  indeed,  owing 
solely  to  the  aftectionate  importunities  of  her  rela- 
tives that  she  was  prevailed  on  to  be  seen  in  society 
at  all.  Had  her  own  inclinations  been  consulted,  she 
would  have  sought  solitude,  where  she  might,  with 
weeping  and  trembling,  commend  her  hopes  to  the 
hands  of  Him  "  who  seeth  in  secret,"  and  "  whose 

are  the  issues"  of  battle.     As,  however,  ^Nliss 's 

rich  contralto  voice  and  skilful  powers  of  accompani- 
ment were  much  talked  of,  the  company  would  listen 
to  no  excuses  or  apologies ;  so  the  poor  girl  was  ab- 
solutely baited  into  sitting  down  to  the  piano,  when 
she  ran  over  a  few  melancholy  chords  with  an  air  of 
reluctance  and  displacency.  Her  sympathies  were 
soon  excited  by  the  fine  tones — the  tumultuous  m*e- 
lody  of  the  keys  she  touched ;  and  she  struck  into 
the  soft  and  soothing  s\nnphony  of  "  The  Banks  of 
Allan  Water."  The  breathless  silence  of  the  by- 
standers (for  nearly  all  the  company  was  thronged 
around)  Mas  at  length  broken  by  her  voice,  stealing, 
*'  like  faint  blue  gushing  streams,"  on  the  delighted 
ears  of  her  auditors,  as  she  commenced  singing  that 
exquisite  little  ballad  with  the  most  touching  pathos 
and  simplicity.     She  had  just  commenced  tlie  verse, 


116  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

"  For  his  bride  a  soldier  sought  her, 
And  a  winning  tongue  had  he !" 

when' to  the  surprise  of  everybody  around  her,  she 
suddenly  ceased  playing  and  singing,  without  remov- 
ing her  hands  from  the  instrument,  and  gazed  stead- 
fastly forward  with  a  vacant  air,  while  the  colour 
faded  from  her  cheeks,  and  left  them  pale  as  the  lily. 
She  continued  thus  for  some  moments,  to  the  alarm 
and  astonishment  of  the  company — motionless,  and 
apparently  unconscious  of  any  one's  presence.  Her 
elder  sister,  much  agitated,  stepped  towards  her, 
placed  her  hand  on  her  shoulder,  endeavoured  gently 
to  rouse  her,  and  said  hurriedly,  "  Anne,  Anne !  what 

now  is  the  matter  1"  Miss made  no  answer ;  but 

a  few  moments  after,  without  moving  her  eyes,  sud- 
denly burst  into  a  piercing  shriek !  Consternation 
seized  all  present. 

"  Sister — sister ! — dear  Anne,  are  you  ill  ?"  again 
inquired  her  trembling  sister,  endeavouring  to  rouse 

her,  but  in  vain.     Miss did  not  seem  either  to 

see  or  hear  her.  Her  eyes  still  gazed  fixedly  for- 
ward, till  they  seemed  gradually  to  expand,  as  it 
were,  with  an  expression  of  glassy  horror.  All  pre- 
sent seemed  utterly  confounded  and  afraid  to  inter- 
fere with  her.  Whispers  were  heard,  "  She's  ill — in 
a  fit — run  for  some  water. — Good  God,  how  strange ! 
— what  a  piercing  shriek !"  &c.  &c.    At  length  Miss 

's  lips  moved.     She  began  to  mutter  inaudibly ; 

but  by-and-by  those  immediately  near  her  could  dis- 
tinguish the  words,  "  There ! — there  they  are  with 
their  lanterns ! — Oh !  they  are  looking  out  for  the 
de — a — d> — They  turn  over  the  heaps. — Ah! — now 
— no  !-^that  little  hill  of  slain — see,  see  ! — they  are 
turning  them  over  one  by  one. — Tliere ! — there  he 
IS ! — Oh,  horror !  horror !  horror ! — right  through  the 
HEART !"  and  with  a  long  shuddering  groan  she  fell 
senseless  into  the  arms  of  her  horror-struck  sister. 
Of  course  all  were  in  confusion  and  dismay ;  not  a 
face  present  but  was  blanched  with  agitation  and 
affright  on  hearing  the  extraordinary  words  she  ut- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  117 

tered.  With  true  delicacy  and  propriety  of  feeling, 
all  those  whose  carriages  had  happened  to  have  al- 
ready arrived  instantly  took  their  departure,  t«  pre- 
vent their  presence  embarrassing  or  interfering  with 
the  family,  who  were  already  sufficiently  bewildered. 
The  room  was  soon  thmned  of  all  except  those  who 
were  immediately  engaged  in  rendering  their  semces 
to  the  young  lady,  and  the  sen'ant  was  instantly 
despatched  with  a  horse  for  me.  On  my  arrival,  I 
fomid  her  in  bed,  still  at  the  house  where  the  party 
M^as  given,  which  was  that  of  the  young  lady's  sister- 
in-law.  She  had  fallen  into  a  succession  of  swoons 
ever  since  she  had  been  carried  up  from  the  drawing- 
room,  and  was  perfectly  senseless  when  I  entered 
the  bedchamber  where  she  lay.  She  had  not  spoken 
a  syllable  since  utteruig  the  singular  words  just  re- 
lated, and  her  whole  frame  was  cold  and  rigid ;  in 
fact,  she  seemed  to  have  received  some  strange  shock 
which  had  altogether  paralyzed  her.  By  the  use, 
however,  of  strong  stimulants,  we  succeeded  in  at 
length  restoring  her  to  something  like  consciousness, 
but  I  think  it  would  have  been  better  for  her,  judging 
from  the  event,  never  to  have  woke  again  from  for- 
getfidness.  She  opened  her  eyes  under  the  influence 
of  the  searching  stimulants  we  applied,  and  stared 
vacantly  for  an  instant  on  those  standing  round  her 
bedside.  Her  countenance,  of  an  ashy  hue,  was 
damp  with  clammy  perspiration,  and  she  lay  perfectly 
motionless,  except  when  her  frame  undulated  with 
long,  deep-drawn  sighs. 

"  Oh,  A\Tetched,  wretched,  wretched  girl !"  she  mur- 
mured at  length,  "  why  have  I  lived  till  now  1  \\]\y 
did  you  not  suffer  me  to  expire  ?  He  called  me  to 
join  him — I  was  going — and  you  will  not  let  me — 
but  I  MUST  go — yes,  yes !" 

*'  Anne,  dearest !  why  do  you  talk  so  1  Charles  is 
not  gone.  He  will  return  soon;  he  will,  indeed," 
sobbed  her  sister. 

"  Oh,  never,  never !    You  could  not  see  what  I 


'    118  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

saw,  Jane,"  she  shuddered ;  "  Oh,  it  was  frightful ! 
How  they  tumbled  about  the  heaps  of  the  dead ! — 
How  they  stripped ! — oh,  horror !  horror !" 

"  My  dear  Miss ,  you  are  dreaming — raving — 

indeed  you  are,"  said  I,  holding  her  hand  in  mine ; 
"  come,  come,  you  must  not  give  way  to  such  gloomy, 
such  nervous  fancies ;  you  must  not,  indeed.  You 
are  frightening  your  friends  to  no  purpose." 

"  What  do  you  mean  1"  she  replied,  looking  me 
suddenly  full  in  the  face ;  "  I  tell  you  it  is  true !  Ah, 
me !  Charles  is  dead — I  know  it — I  saw  him  ! — Shot 
right  through  the  heart!  They  were  stripping  him, 
when — "  and  heaving  three  or  four  short,  convulsive 

sobs,  she  again  swooned.     Mrs. ,  the  lady  of  the 

house  (the  sister-in-law  of  Miss ,  as  I  think  I  have 

mentioned)  could  endure  the  distressing  scene  no 
longer,  and  was  carried  out  of  the  room  fainting  in 
the  arms  of  her  husband.  With  great  difficulty  we 
succeeded  in  restoring  Miss once  more  to  con- 
sciousness ;  but  the  frequency  and  duration  of  her 
relapses  began  seriously  to  alarm  me.  The  spirit 
being  brought  so  often  to  the  brink,  might  at  last 
suddenly  flit  off  into  eternity  without  any  one's  being 
aware  of  it.  I  of  course  did  all  that  my  profession^ 
knowledge  and  experience  suggested ;  and  after  ex- 
pressing my  readiness  to  remain  all  night  in  the 
house,  in  the  event  of  any  sudden  alteration  in  Miss 

for  the  worsje,  I  took  my  departure,  promising 

to  call  very^B^y  in  the  morning.     Before  leaving, 

Mr. had  acquainted  me  with  all  the  particulars 

above  related ;  and  as  I  rode  home,  I  could  not  help 
feeling  the  liveliest  curiosity,  mingled  with  the  most 
intense  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  sufferer,  to  see 
whether  the  corroborating  event  would  stamp  the 
present  as  one  of  those  extraordinary  occurrences 
which  occasionally  "  come  o'er  us  like  a  summer 
cloud,"  astonishing  and  perplexing  every  one. 

The  next  morning,  about  nine  o'clock,  I  was  again 
at  Miss 's  bedside.    She  was  nearly  in  the  same 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICUN.  119 

State  as  that  in  which  I  had  left  her  the  preceding 
evening,  only  feebler,  and  almost  continually  stupi- 
fied.  She  seemed,  as  it  were,  stuimed  with  some 
severe  but  invisible  stroke.  She  said  scarcely  any 
thing,  but  often  uttered  a  low,  moaning,  indistinct 
sound,  and  whispered  at  interv'als,  "  Yes — shortly, 
Charles,  shortly — to-morrow."  There  was  no  rous- 
ing her  by  conversation ;  she  noticed  no  one,  and 
would  answer  no  questions.  I  suggested  the  pro- 
priety of  calling  in  additional  medical  assistance ; 
and  in  the  evening  met  two  eminent  brother  physi- 
cians in  consultation  at  her  bedside.  We  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  she  was  sinking  rapidly,  and  that, 
miless  some  miracle  intervened  to  restore  her  ener- 
gies, she  would  continue  with  us  but  a  very  little 
longer.  After  my  brother  physicians  had  left,  I  re- 
turned to  the  sick  chamber,  and  sat  by  Miss 's 

bedside  for  more  than  an  hour.  My  feelings  were 
much  agitated  at  witnessing  her  singular  and  affect- 
ing situation.  There  was  such  a  sweet  and  sorrow- 
ful expression  about  her  pallid  features,  deepening 
occasionally  into  such  hopelessness  of  heart-broken 
anguish,  as  no  one  could  contemplate  without  deep 
emotion.  There  was  besides  something  mysterious 
and  awing — something  of  what  in  Scotland  is  called 
second  sight — in  the  circumstances  which  had  occa- 
sioned her  illness. 

"  Gone — gone !"  she  murmured,  with  closed  eyes, 
while  I  was  sitting  and  gazing  in  silence  on  her ; 
"  gone — and  in  glory !  Ah !  I  shall  see  the  young 
conqueror — I  shall!  How  he  will  love  me!  Ah!  I 
recollect,"  she  continued,  after  a*^ong  interval,  "  it 
was  the  '  Banks  of  Allan  Water'  those  cruel  people 
made  me  sing — and  my  heart  breaking  the  while! 
Wliat  was  the  verse  I  was  singing  when  I  saw" — 
she  shuddered — "oh!  this — 

'  For  his  bride  a  soldier  sought  her, 
And  a  wnning  tongue  had  he — 
On  the  banks  of  Allan  water 
None  so  gay  as  she  ! 


120  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

But  the  summer  grief  had  brought  her, 
And  the  soldier — false  was  he — ' 

Oh,  110,  no,  never,  Charles !  my  poor,  murdered  Charles 
— never !"  she  groaned,  and  spoke  no  more  that  night. 
She  continued  utterly  deaf  to  all  that  was  said  in  the 
way  of  sympathy  or  remonstrance ;  and  if  her  lips 
moved  at  all,  it  was  only  to  utter  faintly  some  such 
words  as  "  Oh,  let  me — let  me  leave  in  peace !"  Du- 
ring the  next  two  days  she  continued  drooping  rapidly. 
The  only  circumstance  about  her  demeanour  particu- 
larly noticed  was,  that  she  once  moved  her  hands  for 
a  moment  over  the  counterpane,  as  though  she  were 
playing  the  piano ;  a  sudden  flush  overspread  her  fea- 
tures; her  eyes  stared,  as  though  she  were  startled 
by  the  appearance  of  some  phantom  or  other,  and  she 
gasped,  "There — there!"  after  which  she  relapsed 
into  her  former  state  of  stupor. 

How  will  it  be  credited,  that  on  the  fourth  morning 

of  Miss 's  illness,  a  letter  was  received  from  Paris 

by  her  family,  with  a  black  seal,  and  franked  by  the 

noble  colonel  of  the  regiment  in  whi(;h  Charles 

had  served,  communicating  the  melancholy  intelli- 
gence that  the  young  captain  had  fallen  towards  the 
close  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo ;  for  while  in  the  act 
of  charging  at  the  head  of  his  corps,  a  French  cavalry 
officer  shot  him  with  his  pistol  right  through  the 
heart!  Thewiiole  family,  with  all  their  acquaintance, 
were,  unutterably  shocked  at  the  news — almost  petri- 
fied with  amazement  at  the  strange  corroboration  of 

Miss 's  prediction.    How  to  communicate  it  to 

the  poor  sufferer  was  now  a  serious  question,  or 
whether  to  communicate  it  at  all  at  present.  The 
family,  at  last,  considering  that  it  would  be.unjustifi- 
able  in  them  any  longer  to  withhold  the  intelligence, 
intrusted  the  painful  duty  to  me.  I  therefore  repaired 
to  her  bedside  alone,  in  the  evening  of  the  day  on 
which  the  letter  had  beer  received  :  that  evening  was 
the  last  of  her  life  !  I  sat  down  in  my  usual  place 
beside  her,  and  her  pulse,  countenance,  breathing, 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  121 

cold  extremities,  together  with  the  fact  that  she  had 
taken  no  nourishment  whatever  since  she  had  been 
laid  on  her  bed,  convinced  me  that  the  poor  girl's 
sufferings  were  soon  to  terminate.  I  was  at  a  loss 
for  a  length  of  time  how  to  break  the  oppressive  si- 
lence. Obsen'ing,  however,  her  fading  eyes  fixed  on 
me,  I  determined,  as  it  were,  accidentally,  to  attract 
them  to  the  fatal  letter  which  I  then  held  in  my  hand. 
After  a  while  she  observed  it ;  her  eye  suddenly  set- 
tled on  the  ample  coroneted  seal,  and  the  sight  ope- 
rated something  hke  an  electric  shock.  She  seemed 
struggling  to  speak,  but  in  vain.  I  now  wished  to 
heaven  I  had  never  agreed  to  undertake  the  duty 
which  had  been  imposed  upon  me.  I  opened  the 
letter,  and  looking  steadfastly  at  her,  said,  in  as 
soothing  tones  as  my  agitation  could  command,  "  My 
dear  girl,  now  don't  be  alarmed,  or  I  shall  not  teU  you 
what  I  am  going  to  tell  you."  She  trembled,  and 
her  sensibilities  seemed  suddenly  restored  ;  for  her 
eye  assmned  an  expression  of  alarmed  intelligence, 
and  her  lips  moved  about  like  those  of  a  person  who 
feels  them  parched  with  agitation,  and  endeavours  to 
moisten  them.  "  This  letter  has  been  received  to- 
day from  Paris,"  I  continued ;  "  it  is  from  Colonel 

Lord ,  and  brings  word  that — that — that — "    I 

felt  suddenly  choked,  and  could  not  bring  out  the 
words. 

"  That  my  Charles  is  dead  !    I  know  it.     Did  I  not 

tell  you  so  V  said  Miss  ,  interrupting  me,  with 

as  clear  and  distinct  a  tone  of  voice  as  she  ever  had 
in  her  life.  I  felt  confounded.  Had  the  unexpected 
operation  of  the  news  I  brought  been  able  to  dis- 
solve the  spell  which  had  withered  her  mental  ener- 
gies, and  afford  promise  of  her  restoration  to  health  ? 

Has  the  reader  ever  watched  a  candle  which  is 
flickering  and  expiring  in  its  socket,  suddenly  shoot 
up  into  an  instantaneous  brilliance,  and  then  be  utterly 
extinguished  ?     1  soon  saw  it  was  thus  with  poor 

Miss .    All  the  expiring  energies  of  her  soul  were 

L 


122  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

suddenly  collected  to  receive  this  corroboration  of  her 
vision  (if  such  it  maybe  called),  and  then  she  would, 

"  Like  a  lily  drooping, 
Bow  her  head,  and  die." 

To  return.  She  begged  me,  in  a  faltering  voice,  to 
read  her  all  the  letter.  She  listened  with  closed  eyes, 
and  made  no  remark  when  I  had  concluded.  After 
a  long  pause,  I  exclaimed,  "  God  be  praised,  my  dear 

Miss ,  that  you  have  been  able  to  receive  this 

dreadful  news  so  firmly !" 

"  Doctor,  tell  me,  have  you  no  medicine  that  could 
make  me  weep  1  Oh,  give  it  me,  give  it  me ;  it  would 
relieve  me,  for  I  feel  a  mountain  on  my  breast — it  is 
pressing  me,"  replied  she,  feebly,  uttering  the  words 
at  long  intervals.  Pressing  her  hand  in  mine,  I  begged 
her  to  be  calm,  and  the  oppression  would  soon  dis- 
appear. 

"  Oh — oh — oh,  that  I  could  weep,  doctor !"  She 
whispered  something  else,  but  in  audibly.  I  put  my 
ear  close  to  her  mouth,  and  distinguished  something 
like  the  words,  "  I  am — I  am — call  her — hush,"  ac- 
companied with  a  faint,  fluttering,  gurgling  sound. 
Alas !  I  too  well  understood  it !  With  much  trepi- 
dation I  ordered  the  nurse  to  summon  the  family  into 
the  room  instantly.  Her  sister  Jane  was  the  first 
that  entered,  her  eyes  swollen  with  weeping,  and 
seemingly  half-suffocated  with  the  effort  to  conceal 
her  emotions. 

"  Oh,  my  darling,  precious,  precious  sister  Anne  !" 
she  sobbed,  and  knelt  down  at  the  bedside,  flinging 
her  arms  round  her  sister's  neck,  kissing  the  gentle 
sufferer's  cheeks  and  mouth. 

"  Anne ! — love  ! — darling ! — Don't  you  know  me  ?" 
she  groaned,  kissing  her  forehead  repeatedly.  Could 
I  help  weeping  1  All  who  had  entered  were  stand- 
mg  around  the  bed,  sobbmg,  and  in  tears.  I  kept  my 
fingers  at  the  wrist  of  the  dying  sufferer,  but  could 
not  feel  whether  or  not  the  pulse  beat;  which,  how- 
ever, I  attributed  to  my  own  agitation. 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  123 

"  Speak — speak — my  darling  Anne  !  Speak  to  me 
— I  am  your  poor  sister  Jane !"  sobbed  the  agonized 
girl,  continuing  fondly  kissing  her  sister's  cold  lips 
and  forehead.  She  suddenly  started,  exclaimed  "  Oh 
God, she^s  dead!"  and  sunk  instantly  senseless  on  the 
floor.  Alas  !  alas !  it  was  too  true ;  my  sweet  and 
broken-hearted  patient  was  no  more  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CONSUMPTION — THE  SPECTRAL  DOG THE  FORGER. 

Consumption, 

Consumption  ! — Terrible,  insatiable  tyrant !  who 
can  arrest  thy  progress,  or  number  thy  victims? 
why  dost  thou  attack  almost  exclusively  the  fairest 
and  loveliest  of  our  species  1  why  select  blooming 
and  beautiful  youth  instead  of  haggard  and  exhausted 
age  1  v/hy  strike  down  those  who  are  bounding 
blithely  from  the  starting-post  of  life,  rather  than 
the  decrepit  beings  tottering  towards  its  goal  1  By 
what  infernal  subtlety  hast  thou  contrived  hitherto 
to  baffle  the  profoundest  skill  of  science,  to  fnistrate 
utterly  the  uses  of  experience,  and  disclose  thyself 
only  when  thou  hast  irretrievably  secured  thy  victim, 
and  thy  fangs  are  crimsoned  with  its  blood  1  De- 
stroying angel ! — why  art  thou  commissioned  thus 
to  smite  down  the  first-born  of  agonized  humanity  ? 
What  are  the  strange  purposes  of  Providence,  that 
thus  letteth  thee  loose  upon  the  objects  of  its  infinite 
goodness  1 

Alas !  how  many  aching  hearts  have  been  agitated 
with  these  unanswerable  questions,  and  how  many 
myriads  are  yet  to  be  wrung  and  tortured  by  them ! 


124  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

— Let  me  proceed  to  lay  before  the  reader  a  short 
and  simple  statement  of  one  of  the  many  cases  of 
consumption,  and  all  its  attendant  broken-hearted- 
ness,  with  which  a  tolerably  extensive  practice  has, 
alas !  crowded  my  memory.  The  one  immediately 
following  has  been  selected,  because  it  seemed  to 
me,  though  destitute  of  varied  and  stirring  incident, 
calculated  on  various  accounts  to  excite  peculiar 
interest  and  sympathy.  Possibly  there  are  a  few 
who  may  consider  the  ensuing  pages  pervaded  by  a 
tone  of  exaggeration.  It  is  not  so.  My  heart  has 
really  ached  under  the  task  of  recording  the  bitter 
premature  fate  of  one  of  the  most  lovely  and  accom- 
plished young  women  I  ever  knew ;  and  the  vivid 
recollection  of  her  sufferings,  as  well  as  those  of  her 
anguished  relations,  may  have  led  me  to  adopt  strong 
language ;  but  not  strong  enough  adequately  to  ex- 
press my  feelings. 

Miss  Herbert  lost  both  her  father  and  mother  be- 
fore she  had  attained  her  tenth  year,  and  was  sol- 
emnly committed  by  each  to  the  care  of  h'^r  uncle, 
a  baronet,  who  was  unmarried,  and,  through  disap- 
pointment in  a  first  attachment,  seemed  likely  to 
continue  so  to  the  end  of  his  life.  Two  years  after 
his  brother's  death,  he  was  appointed  to  an  eminent 
official  situation  in  India,  as  the  fortune  attached  to 
his  baronetcy  had  suffered  severely  from  the  extra- 
vagance of  his  predecessors.  He  was  for  some  time 
at  a  loss  how  to  dispose  of  his  little  niece.  Should 
he  take  her  with  him  to  India,  accompanied  by  a 
first-rate  governess,  and  have  her  carefully  educated 
under  his  own  eye  ?  or  leave  her  behind  in  England, 
at  one  of  the  fashionable  boarding-schools,  and  trust 
to  the  general  surveillance  of  a  distant  female  rela- 
tion ?  He  decided  on  the  former  course ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, very  shortly  after  completing  her  twelfth 
year,  this  little  blooming  exotic  W'as  transplanted  to 
the  scorched  soil,  and  destined  to  "  waste  its  sweet- 
ness" on  the  sultry  air  of  India.     A  more  delicate 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  125 

and  lovely  little  creature  than  was  Eliza  Herbert  at 
this  period  cannot  be  conceived.  She  was  the  only 
bud  from  a  parent  stem  of  remarkable  beauty ;  but, 
alas !  that  stem  was  suddenly  withered  by  consump- 
tion! Her  father,  also,  fell  a  victim  to  the  fierce 
typhus  fever  only  half  a  year  after  the  death  of  his 
wife.  Little  Eliza  Herbert  inherited,  with  her  mo- 
ther's beauty,  her  constitutional  delicacy.  Her  figure 
was  so  slight,  that  it  almost  suggested  to  the  beholder 
the  idea  of  transparency ;  and  there  was  a  softness 
and  languor  in  her  azure  eyes,  beaming  through  .their 
long  silken  lashes,  which  told  of  something  too  refined 
for  humanity.  Her  disposition  fully  comported  with 
her  person  and  habits — arch,  mild,  and  intelligent, 
with  a  little  dash  of  pensiveness.  She  loved  the 
shade  of  retirement.  If  she  occasionally  flitted  for 
a  moment  into  the  world,  its  glare  and  uproar  seemed 
almost  to  stun  her  gentle  spirit.  She  was,  almost 
from  infancy,  devotedly  fond  of  reading ;  and  sought 
with  peculiar  avidity  books  of  sentiment.  Her  gifted- 
preceptress,  one  of  the  most  amiable  and  refined  of 
women,  soon  won  her  entire  confidence,  and  found 
little  difficulty  in  imparting  to  her  apt  pupil  all  the 
stores  of  her  own  superior  and  extensive  accomplish- 
ments. Not  a  day  passed  over  that  did  not  find  Eliza 
Herbert  riveted  more  firmly  in  the  hearts  of  all  who 
came  near  her,  from  her  doting  uncle  down  to  the 
most  distant  domestic.  Eveiy  luxury  that  wealth 
and  power  could  procure  was,  of  course,  always  at 
her  command;  her  own  innate  propriety  and  just 
taste  prompted  her  to  prefer  simplicity  in  all  things. 
Flatteiy  of  all  kinds  she  abhorred ;  and  forsook  the 
house  of  a  rich  old  English  lady,  who  once  told  her 
to  her  face  she  was  a  beautiful  little  angel!  In 
short,  a  more  sweet,  lovely,  and  amiable  being  than 
Eliza  Herbert  never  adorned  the  ranks  of  humanity. 
The  only  fear  which  incessantly  haunted  those  around 

her,  and  kept  Sir in  a  feverish  flutter  of  appre- 

liension  every  day  of  his  life,  M^as,  that  his  niece 
L2 


126  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

was,  ill  his  own  words,  "too  good — loo  beautiful, 
for  this  world ;"  and  that  unseen  messengers  from 
above  were  already  flitting  around  her,  ready  to 
claim  her  suddenly  for  the  skies.  He  has  often  de- 
scribed to  me  his  feelings  on  this  subject.  He 
seemed  conscious  that  he  had  no  right  to  reckon  on 
the  continuance  of  her  life;  he  felt,  whenever  he 
thought  of  her,  an  involuntary  appreliension  that 
she  would,  at  no  distant  period,  suddenly  fade  from 
his  sight ;  he  was  afraid,  he  said,  to  let  out  the  whole 
of  his  heart's  affections  on  her.  Like  the  oriental 
merchant,  who  shudders  while  freighting  "  one  bark 
— one  little,  fragile  bark,"  with  the  dazzling  stores 
of  his  immense  all,  and  committing  it  to  the  capri- 
cious dominion  of  wind  and  waves, — so  Sir  

often  declared,  that  at  the  period  I  am  alluding  to 
he  experienced  cruel  misgivings,  that  if  he  embarked 
the  whole  of  his  soul's  loves  on  little  Eliza  Herbert, 
they  were  fated  to  be  shipwrecked.  Yet  he  regarded 
her  every  day  with  feelings  which  soon  heightened 
into  absolute  idolatry. 

His  fond  anxieties  soon  suggested  to  him  that  so 
delicate  and  fragile  a  being  as  his  niece,  supposing 
for  a  moment  the  existence  of  any  real  grounds  of 
apprehension  that  her  constitution  bore  an  hereditary 
taint,  could  not  be  thrown  into  a  directer  path  for 
her  grave  than  in  India;  that  any  latent,  lurking 
tendency  to  consumption  would  be  quickened  and 
developed  with  fatal  rapidity  in  the  burning  atmos- 
phere she  was  then  breathing.  His  mind,  once 
thoroughly  suifused  with  alarms  of  this  sort,  could 
not  ever  afterward  be  dispossessed  of  them  ;  and  he 
accordingly  determined  to  relinquish  his  situation  in 
India  the  instant  he  should  have  realized,  from  one 
quarter  or  another,  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  return 
to  England,  and  support  an  establishment  suitable 
to  his  station  in  society.  About  five  years  had 
elapsed  since  his  arrival  in  India,  during  which  he 
had  contrived  to  save  a  large  portion  of  his  very 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  127 

ample  income,  when  news  reached  him  that  a  con- 
siderable fortune  had  fallen  to  him,  from  the  sudden 
death  of  a  remote  relation.  The  intelligence  made 
him  comparatively  a  happy  man.  He  instantly  set 
on  foot  arrangements  for  returning  to  England,  and 
procuring  the  immediate  appointment  of  his  suc- 
cessor. 
Unknown  to  his  niece,  about  a  year  after  his  arrival 

in  India,  Sir had  confidentially  consulted  the 

most  eminent  physician  on  the  spot.     In  obedience 

to  the  injunctions  of  the  baronet.  Dr.  C was  in 

the  habit  of  dropping  in  frequently,  as  if  accidentally, 
to  dinner,  for  the  purpose  of  marking  Miss  Herbert's 
demeanour,  and  ascertaining  whether  there  was,  so 
to  speak,  the  very  faintest  adumbration  of  any  con- 
sumptive tendency.  But  no — his  quick  and  prac- 
tised eye  detected  no  morbid  indications  ;  and  he 
reiteratedly  gladdened  the  baronet's  heart,  by  as- 
suring him  that,  in  any  present  evidence  to  the  con- 
trary, little  Miss  Herbert  bade  as  fair  for  long  and 
healthy  hfe  as  any  Avoman  breathing,  especially  if 
she  soon  returned  to  the  more  salubrious  climate  of 

England.     Though  Dr.  C had  never  spoken 

professionally  to  her,  Eliza  Herbert  was  too  quick 
and  shrewd  an  observer  to  continue  unapprized  of 
the  object  of  his  frequent  visits  to  her  uncle's  house. 
She  had  not  failed  to  notice  his  searching  glances; 
and  knew  well  that  he  watched  almost  everj^  mouth- 
ful of  food  she  eat,  and  scrutinized  all  her  movements. 
He  had  once  also  ventured  to  feel  her  pulse,  in  a 
half-in-earnest,  half-in-joke  manner,  and  put  one  or 
two  questions  to  the  governess  about  ^liss  Herbert's 
general  habits,  which  that  good,  easy,  communicative 
creature  unfortunately  told  her  inquisitive  little  pupil. 
NoAV,  there  are  few  things  more  alarming  and  irri- 
tating to  young  people,  even  if  consciously  enjoying 
the  most  robust  health,  than  suddenly  to  find  that  they 
have  long  been,  and  still  are,  the  objects  of  anxious 
medical  surveillance.     They  begin  naturally  to  sus- 


128  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

pect  that  there  must  be  very  good  reason  for  it, 
and  especially  in  the  case  of  nervous,  irritable  tem- 
peraments; their  peace  of  mind  is  thenceforward 
destroyed  by  torturing  apprehensions  that  they  are 
the  doomed  victims  of  some  insidious,  incurable  mal- 
ady. I  have  often  and  often  known  illustrations 
of  this.  Sir also  was  aware  of  its  ill  conse- 
quences, and  endeavoured  to  avert  even  the  shadow 
of  a  suspicion  from  his  niece's  mind  as  to  the  real 

object  of  Dr.  C 's  visits,  by  formally  introducing 

him,  from  the  first,  as  one  of  his  own  intimate  friends. 
He  therefore  flattered  himself  that  liis  niece  was  pro- 
foundly ignorant  of  the  existence  of  his  anxieties 
concerning  her  health ;  and  was  not  a  little  startled 
one  morning  by  Miss  Herbert's  abruptly  entering  his 
study,  and,  pale  with  ill-disguised  anxiety,  inquiring 
if  there  was  "■  any  thing  the  matter  with  her."  Was 
she  unconsciously ya//m^  i7ito  a  decline  ?  she  asked, 
almost  in  so  many  words.  Her  uncle  was  so  con- 
founded by  the  suddenness  of  the  affair,  that  he  lost 
his  presence  of  mind,  changed  colour  a  little,  and, 
with  a  consciously  embarrassed  air,  assured  her  that 
it  was  "  no  such  thing," — "  quite  a  mistake — a  very 
ridiculous  one," — "a  childish  whim,"  &c.  &c.  &c. 
He  was  so  very  earnest  and  energetic  in  his  assu- 
rances that  there  was  no  earthly  ground  for  appre- 
hension, and,  in  short,  concealed  his  alarm  so  clum- 
sily, that  his  poor  niece,  though  she  left  him  with 
a  kiss  and  a  smile,  and  affected  to  be  satisfied,  retired 
to  her  own  room,  and  from  that  melancholy  moment 
resigned  herself  to  her  grave.  Of  tliis  she  herself, 
three  years  subsequently,  in  England,  assured  me. 
She  never  afterward  recovered  that  gentle  buoyancy 
and  elasticity  of  spirits  which  made  her  burst  upon 
her  few  friends  and  acquaintance  lik^^a  little  lively  - 
sunbeam  of  cheerfulness  and  gayety.'  She  felt  per- 
petually haunted  by  gloomy  though  vague  suspi- 
cions that  there  was  something  rarf/ca//?/ rtron^  in 
her  constitution;  that  it  was  from  her  biith  sown 


DL\RY     OP   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  129 

with  the  seeds  of  death ;  and  that  no  earthly  power 
could  eradicate  them.  Though  she  resigned  herself 
to  the  dominion  of  such  harassing  thoughts  as  these 
while  alone,  and  even  shed  tears  abundantly,  she 
succeeded  in  banishing,  to  a  gi'eat  extent,  her  uncle's 
disquietude,  by  assuming  even  gi'eater  gayety  of  de- 
meanour than  before.  The  baronet  took  occasion 
to  mention  the  little  incident  above  related  to  Dr. 

C ;   and  was  excessively  agitated  to  see  the 

physician  assume  a  very  serious  air. 

"  This  may  be  attended  with  more  mischief  than 

you  are  aware  of,  Sir ,"  he  replied.     "  I  feel  it 

my  duty  to  tell  you  how  miserably  unfortunate  for 
her  it  is  that  Miss  Herbert  has  at  last  detected  your 
restless  uneasiness  about  her  health,  and  the  means 
you  have  taken  to  watch  her  constitution.  Hence- 
forward she  may  appear  satisfied — but  mark  her  if 
she  can  forget  it.  You  will  find  her  fall  frequently 
into  momentaiy  fits  of  absence  and  thoughtfulness. 
She  will  brood  over  it,"  continued  Dr.  C . 

"Why,  good  God!  doctor,'\replied  the  baronet, 
"  what's  the  use  of  frightening  one  thus  ?  Do  you 
think  my  niece  is  the  first  girl  who  has  known  that 
her  friends  are  anxious  about  her  health  %  If  she  is 
really,  as  you  tell  her,  free  from  disease — why,  the 
devil ! — can  she  fancy  herself  into  a  consumption  V 

"  No,  no.  Sir ;  but  incessant  alarm  may  acce- 
lerate the  evil  you  dread,  and  predispose  her  to  sink, 
her  energies  to  droop,  under  the  blow — however 
lightly  it  may  at  first  fall— which  has  been  so  long 

impending.     And  besides,  Sir ,  I  did  not  say  she 

was  free  from  disease,  but  only  that  I  had  not  dis- 
cerned any  present  symptoms  of  disease." 

"  Oh,  stuiF,  stuff,  doctor !  nonsense !"  muttered  the 
baronet,  rising,  and  pacing  the  room  with  excessive 
agitation.  "Can't  the  girl  be  laughed  out  of  her 
fears  1" 

It  may  be  easily  believed  that  Sir spent  every 

future  moment  of  his  stay  in  India  in  an  agony  of 


130  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

apprehension.  His  fears  exaggerated  the  slightest 
indication  of  his  niece's  temporar}'-  indisposition  into 
a  symptom  of  consumption ;  any  thing  like  a  cough 
from  her  would  send  him  to  a  pillow  of  thorns ;  and 
her  occasional  refusal  of  food  at  meal-times  was  re- 
ceived with  undisguised  trepidation  on  the  part  of 
her  uncle.  If  he  overtook  her  at  a  distance,  walking 
out  with  her  governess,  he  would  follow  unperceived, 
and  strain  his  eyesight  with  endeavouring  to  detect 
any  thing  like  feebleness  in  her  gait.  These  inces- 
sant and  very  natural  anxieties  about  the  only  being 
he  loved  in  the  world,  enhanced  by  his  efforts  to 
conceal  them,  sensibly  impaired  his  own  health  and 
spirits.  He  grew  fretful  and  irritable  in  his  demean- 
our towards  every  member  of  his  establishment, 
and  could  not  completely  fix  his  thoughts  for  the 
transaction  of  his  important  official  busines^ 

This  may  be  thought  an  overstrained  representa- 
tion of  Sir 's  state  of  mind  respecting  his  niece ; 

but  by  none  except  a  young,  thoughtless,  or  heartless 
reader.  Let  the  thousand— the  million  heart -wrung 
parents  who  have  mourned,  and  are  now  mourning, 
over  their  consumptive  offspring — let  them^  I  say, 
echo  the  truth  of  the  sentiments  I  am  expressing. 
Let  those  whose  bitter  fate  it  is  to  see 

"  The  bark,  so  richly  freighted  \vith  their  love," 

gradually  sinking,  shipwrecked  before  their  very 
eyes,  say  whether  the  pen  or  tongue  of  man  can  fur- 
nish adequate  words  to  give  expression  to  their  an- 
guished feelings ! 


Eighteen  years  of  age,  within  a  trifle,  was  Miss 
Herbert  when  she  again  set  foot  on  her  native  land,, 
and  the  eyes  and  heait  of  her  idolizing  uncle  leaped 
for  joy  to  see  her  augmented  health  and  loveliness, 
which  he  fondly  flattered  himself  might  now  be 
destined  to 

"  Grow  with  her  growth,  and  strengthen  with  her  strength." 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  131 

The  voyage,  though  long  and  monotonous  as 
usual,  with  its  fresh  breezy  balminess,  had  given  an 
impetus  to  her  animated  spirits;  and  as  her  slight 
figure  stepped  down  the  side  of  the  gloomy  colossal 
Indiaman  wliich  had  brought  her  across  the  seas, 
her  blue  eye  was  bright  as  that  of  a  seraph;  her 
beauteous  cheeks  glowed  with  a  soft  and  rich  crim- 
son, and  there  was  a  lightness,  ease,  and  elasticity 
in  her  movements,  as  she  tripped  the  short  dis- 
tance between  the  vessel  and  the  carriage  which 
was  in  waiting  to  convey  them  to  town,  that  filled 
her  doting  micle  with  feelings  of  almost  phrensied 
joy. 

"God  Almighty  bless  thee,  my  darling!  Bless 
thee — bless  thee  for  ever,  my  pride!  my  jewel! — 
Long  and  happy  be  thy  life  in  merry  England !" 
sobbed  the  baronet,  folding  her  almost  convulsively 
in  his  arms  as  soon  as  they  were  seated  in  the  car- 
riage, and  giving  her  the  first  kiss  of  welcome  to 
her  native  shores.  The  second  day  after  they  were 
established  at  one  of  the  hotels,  while  Miss  Herbert 
and  her  governess  were  riding  the  round  of  fashion- 
able shopping,  Sir drove  alone  to  the  late  Dr. 

Baillie.  In  a  long  interview  (they  were  personal 
friends)  he  communicated  all  his  distressing  appre- 
hensions about  his  niece's  state  of  health,  imploring 
him  to  say  whether  he  had  any  real  cause  of  alarm 
whatever,  immediate  or  prospective;  andAvhat  course 
and  plan  of  life  he  would  recommend  for  the  future. 
Dr.  Baillie,  after  many  and  minute  inquiries,  con- 
tented himself  with  saying,  that  he  saw  no  grounds 
for  present  apprehensions.  "  It  certainly  did  sonie- 
times  happen,  that  a  dehcate  daughter  of  a  consump- 
tive parent  inherited  her  mother's  tendencies  to  dis- 
ease," he  said.  "And  as  for  her  future  life  and 
habits,  there  was  not  the  slightest  occasion  for  medi- 
cine of  any  kind ;  she  must  live  almost  entirely  in 
the  country,  take  plenty  of  fresh  dry  air  and  exercise 
— especially  eschew  late  hours  and  company ;"  and 


132  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

he  hinted,  finally,  the  advantages,  and  almost  the 
necessity,  of  xin  early  matrimonial  engagement. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  Sir resolved  most 

religiously  to  follow  this  advice  to  the  letter. 

"  I'll  come  and  dine  with  you  in  Dover-street,  at 
seven  to-day,"  said  Dr.  Baillie,  "  and  make  my  own 
observations." 

"Thank  you,  doctor — but — but  we  dine  out  to- 
day," muttered  the  baronet,  rather  faintly,  adding, 
inwardly,  "no,  no! — no  more  medical  espionage — 
no,  no !" 

Sir purchased  a  very  beautiful  mansion,  which 

then  happened  to  be  for  sale,  situated  within  ten  or 
twelve  miles  of  London ;  and  thither  he  removed  as 
soon  as  ever  the  preliminary  arrangements  could  be 
completed. 

The  shrine  and  its  divinity  were  worthy  of  each 

other.     Hall  was  one  of  the  most  charming, 

picturesque  residences  in  the  county.  It  was  a  fine, 
antique,  semi-Gothic  structure,  almost  obscured  from 
sight  in  the  profound  gloom  of  forest  shade.  The 
delicious  velvet  greensward,  spread  immediately  in 
front  of  the  house,  seemed  formed  for  the  gentle  foot- 
steps of  Miss  Herbert.  When  you  went  there,  if 
you  looked  carefully  about,  you  might  discover  a 
little  white  tuft  glistening  on  some  part  or  other  of 
the  "  smooth,  soft-shaven  lawn :"  it  was  her  pet 
lamb,  cropping  the  crisp  and  rich  herbage.  Little 
thing!  it  would  scarce  submit  to  be  fondled  by  any 
hand  but  that  of  its  innocent  indulgent  mistress. 
She  also  might  occasionally  be  seen  there,  wander- 
ing thoughtfully  along,  with  a  book  in  her  hand — 
Tasso,  probably,  or  Dante — and  her  loose  light  hair 
straying  from  beneath  a  gipsy  bonnet,  commingling 
in  pleasant  contact  with  a  saffron-coloured  riband. 
Her  uncle  would  sit  for  an  hour  together,  at  a  corner 
of  his  study-window,  overlooking  the  lawn,  and 
never  remove  his  eyes  from  the  figure  of  his  fair 
niece. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  133 

Miss  Herbert  was  now  talked  of  every  where  in 
the  neighbourhood  as  the  pride  of  the  place — the 
star  of  the  comity.  She  budded  forth  almost  visibly; 
and  though  her  exquisite  form  was  developing  daily, 
till  her  matured  womanly  proportions  seemed  to 
have  been  cast  in  tlie  mould  of  the  V^enus  de  Medici, 
though  on  a  scale  of  more  slenderness  and  delicacy, 
it  was,  nevertheless,  outstripped  by  the  precocious 
expanding  of  her  intellect.  The  sympathies  of  her 
soul  were  attuned  to  the  deepest  and  most  refined 
sentiment.  She  was  passionately  fond  of  poetry, 
and  never  wandered  without  the  sphere  of  what  was 
first-rate.  Dante  and  ^Milton  were  her  constant  com- 
panions by  day  and  night ;  and  it  was  a  treat  to  hear 
the  melUfluous  cadences  of  the  former  uttered  by 
the  soft  and  rich  voice  of  INIiss  Herbert.  She  could 
not  more  satisfactorily  evidence  her  profound  appre- 
ciation of  the  true  spirit  of  poetry  than  by  her  almost 
idolatrous  admiration  of  the  kindred  genius  of  Handel 
and  Mozart.  She  was  scarcely  ever  known  to  play 
any  other  music  than  theirs;  she  would  listen  to 
none  but  the  "mighty  voices  of  those  dim  spirits." 
And  then  she  was  "the  most  amiable  and  charitable 
creature  that  sure  ever  trod  the  earth!  How  many 
colds, — slight,  to  be  sure,  and  evanescent, — had  she 
caught,  and  how  many  rebukes  from  the  alarmed 
fondness  of  her  uncle  had  she  suffered  in  conse- 
quence, through  her  frequent  visits,  in  all  weathers, 
to  the  cottages  of  the  poor  and  sick  I — "  You  are  de- 
scribing an  ideal  being,  and  investing  it  with  all  the 
graces  and  virtues — one  that  never  really  existed," 
perhaps  exclaims  one  of  my  readers.  There  are  not 
a  few  now  living  who  could  answer  for  the  truth  of 
my  poor  and  faint  description  ^vith  anguish  and  re- 
gret. Frequently,  on  seeing  such  instances  of  pre- 
cocious developement  of  the  powers  of  both  mind 
and  body,  the  curt  and  correct  expression  of  Quin- 
tilian  has  occurred  to  my  mind  with  painful  force — 
"Quod  obscrvatum  fere  est,  celerius  occidcre  /csii- 
.M 


134  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

natam  maturitatem  ;"*  aptly  rendered  by  the  English 
proverb,  "  Soon  ripe,  soon  rotten." 

The  latter  part  of  Dr.  Baillie's  advice  was  anx- 
iously kept  in  view  by  Sir ;  and  soon  after  Miss 

Herbert  had  completed  her  twentieth  year,  he  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing-  her  encourage  the  atten- 
tions of  a  Captain  ,  the  third  son  of  a  neigh- 
bouring nobleman.  He  was  a  remarkably  fine  and 
handsome  young  man,  of  a  very  superior  spirit,  and 
fully  capable  of  appreciating  the  value  of  her  whose 

hand  he  sought.     Sir was  delighted  almost  to 

ecstasy  when  he  extracted  from  the  trembling,  blush- 
ing girl  a  confession  that  Captain  's  company 

was  any  thing  but  disagreeable  to  her.  The  young 
military  hero  was,  of  course,  soon  recognised  as  her 
suitor;  and  a  handsome  couple,  people  said,  they 
would  make.  Miss  Herbert's  health  seemed  more 
robust,  and  her  spirits  more  buoyant  than  ever. 
How,  indeed,  could  it  be  otherwise,  when  she  was 
daily  riding  in  an  open  carriage,  or  on  horseback, 
over  a  fine,  breezy,  champaign  country,  by  the  side 
of  the  gay,  handsome  fascinating  Captain ? 

The  baronet  was  sitting  one  morning  in  his  study, 
having  the  day  before  returned  from  a  month's  visit 
to  some  friends  in  Ireland,  and  engaged  with  some 

important  letters  from  India,  when  ^Iiss  B ,  his 

niece's  governess,  sent  a  message  requesting  to  speak 
in  private  with  him.  When  she  entered,  her  embar- 
rassed and  somewhat  flurried  manner  not  a  little 
surprised  Sir . 

"How  is  Ehzal— How  is  Eliza,  Miss  B ?"  he 

inquired  hastily,  laying  aside  his  reading-glasses. 
"  Very  well,"  she  replied,  "  very ;"  and  after  a  little 
fencing  about  the  necessity  of  making  allowance  for 
the  exaggeration  of  alarm  and  anxiety,  she  proceeded 
to  inform  him,  that  Miss  Herbert  had  latterly  passed 

■♦  De  Inst.  Orat.  lib.  iv.    In  proemio. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    THYSICIAX.  135 

restless  nights ;  that  her  sleep  was  not  unfrequently 
broken  by  a  cough — a  sort  of  faint  chirchyard'coughy 
she  said,  it  seemed — which  had  not  been  noticed  for 
some  time,  till  it  was  accompanied  by  other  symp- 
toms  "Gracious  God!   madam,  how   was    this 

not  told  me  before  ]     Why — why  did  you  not  write 

to  me  in  Ireland  about  it  V  inquired  Sir ,  with 

excessive  trepidation.     He  could  scarcely  sit  in  his 

chair,  and  grew  very  pale ;  while  Miss  B ,  herself 

equally  agitated,  went  on  to  mention  profuse  night- 
sweats,  a  disinclination  for  food,  exhaustion  from 
the  slightest  exercise,  a  feverishness  every  evening, 
and  a  faint  hectic  flush — 

"  Oh,  plague-spot  /"  groaned  the  baronet,  almost 
choked,  letting  fall  his  reading-glasses.  He  tottered 
towards  the  bell,  and  the  valet  was  directed  to  order 
the  carriage  for  town  immediately.  "  What — M-hat 
possible  excuse  can  I  devise  for  bringing  Dr.  Baillie 
here  V  said  he  to  the  governess,  as  he  was  drawing 
on  his  gloves.  "  Well,  well,  I'll  leave  it  to  you ;  do 
what  you  can.  For  God's  sake,  madam,  prepare  her 
to  see  him  somehow  or  another,  for  the  doctor  and 
I  shall  certainly  be  here  together  this  evening.  Oh! 
— say  I'm  called  up  to  town  on  sudden  business,  and 
thought  I  might  as  well  bring  him  on  with  me,  as  he 
is  visiting  a  patient  in  the  neighbourhood.  Oh,  any 
thing,  madam,  any  thing !"  He  hardly  knew  what 
he  was  saying. 

Dr.  Baillie,  however,  could  not  come,  being  him- 
self at  Brighton  an  invalid,  and  the  baronet  was 
therefore  pleased,  though  with  ill-disguised  chagrin, 
to  summon  me  to  supply  his  place.  On  my  way 
down,  he  put  me  in  possession  of  most  of  tlie  facts 
above  narrated.  He  implored  me,  in  tenderness  to 
his  agitated  feelings,  to  summon  all  the  tact  I  had 
ever  acquired,  and  alarm  the  object  of  my  visit  as 
little  as  possible.  I  was  especially  to  guard  against 
appearing  to  know  too  much ;  I  was  to  beat  about 
tlie  bush— to  extract  her  symptoms  gradually,  &e. 


136  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

&c.  I  never  saw  the  fondest,  the  most  doting  father 
or  mother  more  agitated  about  an  only  child  than 

was  Sir about  his  niece.     He  protested  that  he 

could  not  survive  her  death ;  that  she  was  the  only- 
prop  and  pride  of  his  declining  years,  and  that  he 
must  fall  if  he  lost  her ;  and  made  use  of  many  simi- 
lar expressions.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  besought  him 
not  to  allow  himself  to  be  carried  so  much  away 
with  his  fears.  He  must  let  me  see  her,  and  have 
an  opportunity  of  judging  whether  there  were  any 
real  cause  of  alarm,  I  said ;  and  he  might  rely  on 
my  honour  as  a  gentleman,  that  I  would  be  frank 
and  candid  with  him  to  the  very  utmost — I  would 
tell  him  the  worst.  I  reminded  him  of  the  possibil- 
ity that  the  symptoms  he  mentioned  might  not  really 

exist ;  that  they  might  have  been  seen  by  Miss  B 

through  the  distorting  and  magnifying  medium  of 
apprehension ;  and  that,  even  if  they  did  really  exist 
— why,  that — that — they  were  not  always  the  pre- 
cursors of  consumption,  I  stammered,  against  my 
own  convictions.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the 
emotions  excited  in  the  baronet  by  my  simple  utter- 
ing the  word  "consumption."  He  said  it  stabbed 
him  through  the  heart ! 

On  arriving  at  Hall,  the  baronet  and  I  in- 
stantly repaired  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Miss 
Herbert  and  her  governess  were  sitting  at  tea.  The 
pensive  sunlight  of  September  shone  through  the 
Gothic  window  near  which  they  were  sitting.  Miss 
Herbert  was  dressed  in  white,  and  looked  really 
dazzlingly  beautiful;  but  the  first  transient  glance 
warned  me  that  the  worst  might  be  apprehended.  I 
had  that  very  morning  been  at  the  bedside  of  a  dying 
young  lady,  a  martyr  to  that  very  disease,  which 
commenced  by  investing  its  victim  with  a  tenfold 
splendour  of  personal  beauty,  to  be  compensated  for 
by  sudden  and  rapid  decay!  Miss  Herbert's  eyes 
were  lustrous  as  diamonds ;  and  the  complexion  of 
her  cheeks,  pure  and  fair  as  that  of  the  lily,  was  sur- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  137 

niounted  with  an  intense,  circumscribed,  crimson 
flush — alas,  alas !  the  very  "plague-spot"  of  liectic — 
of  consumption.  She  saluted  me  silentlj',  and  her 
eyes  glanced  hurriedly  from  me  to  her  uncle,  and 
from  him  again  to  me.  His  disordered  air  defied 
disguise. 

She  M^as  evidently  apprized  of  my  coming,  as  well 
as  of  the  occasion  of  my  visit.  Indeed,  there  was  a 
visible  embarrassment  about  all  four  of  us,  which  I 
felt  I  was  expected  to  dissipate  by  introducing  indif- 
ferent topics  of  conversation.  This  I  attempted, 
but  with  little  success.  Miss  Herbert's  tea  M^as  be- 
fore her,  on  a  little  ebony  stand,  untouched  ;  and  it 
was  evidently  a  violent  effort  only  that  enabled  her 
to  continue  in  the  room.     She  looked  repeatedly  at 

Miss  B ,  as  though  she  wished  to  be  gone.     After 

about  half  an  hour's  time,  I  alluded  complimentarily 
to  what  I  had  heard  of  her  performance  on  the  piano ; 
she  smiled  coldly  and  rather  contemptuously,  as 
though  she  saw  the  part  I  was  playing.  Nothing 
daunted,  hoAvever,  I  begged  her  to  favour  me  with 
one  of  Haydn's  sonatas ;  and  she  went  immediately 
to  the  piano,  and  played  what  I  asked — I  need  hardly 
say,  very  exquisitely.  Her  uncle  then  withdrew, 
for  the  alleged  purpose  of  answering  a  letter,  as  had 
been  arranged  between  us ;  and  I  was  then  left  alone 
with  the  two  ladies.  I  need  not  fatigue  the  reader 
with  a  minute  description  of  all  that  passed.  I  in- 
troduced the  object  of  my  visit  as  casually  and  gently 
as  I  could,  and  succeeded  more  easily  than  I  had 
anticipated  in  quieting  her  alajms.  The  answers 
she  gave  to  my  questions  amply  corroborated  the 

truth  of  the  account  given  by  Miss  B to  the 

baronet.  Her  feverish  accelerated  pulse,  also,  told 
of  the  hot  blighting  breathings  of  the  destroying 
angel,  who  was  already  hovering  close  around  his 
victim  !  I  was  compelled  to  smile  with  an  assumed 
air  of  gayety  and  nonchalance,  while  listening  to  the 
poor  girl's  unconscious  disclosures  of  various  little 
M2 


138  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

matters,  which  amounted  to  infallible  evidence  that 
she  was  already  beyond  the  reach  of  medicine.  I 
bade  her  adieu,  complimenting  her  on  her  charming 
looks,  and  expressing  my  dehght  at  finding  so  little 
occasion  for  my  professional  services !  She  looked 
at  me  with  a  half-incredulous,  half-confiding  eye, 
and  with  much  girlish  simplicity  and  frankness  put 
her  hand  into  mine,  thanking  me  for  dispersing  her 
fears,  and  begging  me  to  do  the  same  for  her  uncle. 
I  afterward  learned,  that  as  soon  as  I  left  the  room, 
she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  sighed  and  sobbed 
all  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

With  Sir 1  felt  it  my  duty  to  be  candid.     Why 

should  I  conceal  the  worst  from  him,  when  I  felt  as 
certain  as  I  was  of  my  own  existence  that  his  beau- 
tiful niece  was  already  begimiing  to  wither  away 
from  before  his  eyes  1  Convinced  that  "  hope  de- 
ferred maketli  sick  the  heart,"  I  have  always  in  such 
cases  warned  the  patient's  friends,  long  beforehand, 
of  the  inevitable  fate  awaiting  the  object  of  their 
anxious  hopes  and  fears,  in  order  that  resignation 
might  gradually  steal  thoroughly  into  their  broken 
hearts. — To  return.  I  was  conducted  to  the  baro- 
net's study,  where  he  was  standing  with  his  hat 
and  gloves  on,  ready  to  accompany  me  as  far  as  the 
high  road,  in  order  that  I  might  wait  the  arrival  of  a 
London  coach.  I  told  him,  in  short,  that  I  feared  I 
had  sfeen  and  heard  too  much  to  allow  a  doubt  that 
his  niece's  present  symptoms  were  those  of  the  com- 
mencing stage  of  pulmonary  consumption ;  and  that 
though  medicine  and  change  of  climate  might  possi- 
bly avert  the  evil  day  for  a  time,  it  was  my  melan- 
choly duty  to  assure  him  that  no  earthly  power 
could  save  her. 

"  jMerciful  God !"  he  gasped,  loosing  his  arm  from 
mine,  and  leaning  against  *the  park  gate,  at  which 
we  had  arrived.  1  implored  him  to  l^/;alm.  He 
continued  speechless  for  some  time,  wTtn  his  hands 
clasped. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE   PHYSICIAN.  139 

"  Oh,  doctor,  doctor !"  he  exclaimed,  as  if  a  gleam 
of  hope  had  suddenly  flashed  across  his  mind, "  we've 
forgot  to  tell  you  a  most  material  thing,  which  per- 
haps will  alter  the  whole  case — oh,  how  could  we 
have  forgotten  it!"  he  continued,  growing  heated 
with  the  thought;  "my  niece  eats  veiy  heartily — 
nay,  more  heartily  than  any  of  us,  and  seems  to 
relish  her  food  more."  Alas !  I  was  obliged,  as  I 
have  hundreds  of  times  before  been  obliged,  to  dash 
the  cup  from  his  lips,  by  assuring  him  that  an  almost 
ravenous  appetite  was  as  invariably  a  forerumier  of 
consumption  as  the  pilot-fish  of  the  shark ! 

"  Oh,  great  God,  w^hat  will  become  of  me !  Wliat 
shall  I  do  ]"  he  exclaimed,  almost  frantic,  and  wring- 
ing his  hands  in  despair.  He  had  lost  every  vestige 
of  self-control.  "  Then  my  sweet  angel  must  die  ! 
Damning  thought !  Oh,  let  me  die  too!  I  cannot, 
I  will  not  survive  her! — Doctor,  doctor,  you  must 
give  up  your  London  practice,  and  come  and  live  in 
my  house — you  must !  By  G — ,  FU  fling  my  v.hole 
fortune  at  your  feet !  Only  save  her,  and  )^ou  and 
yours  shall  Mallow  in  w^ealth,  if  I  go  back  to  India 
to  procure  it ! — Oh,  whither— whither  shall  1  go  with 
my  darling?  To  Italy—France  1— My  God!  what 
shall  I  do  when  she  is  gone  for  ever !"  he  exclaimed, 
like  one  distracted.  I  entreated  him  to  recollect 
himself,  and  endeavour  to  regain  his  self-possession 
before  returning  to  the  presence  of  his  niece.  He 
started.  "Oh,  mockery,  doctor,  mockery!  How 
can  I  ever  look  on  the  dear  girl  again?  She  is  no 
longer  mine ;  she  is  in  her  grave — she  is !" 

Remonstrance  and  expostulation,  I  saw,  were  ut- 
terly useless,  and  worse,  for  they  served  only  to  irri- 
tate.    The  coach  shortly  afterward  drew  up ;  and, 

wringing  my  hands,  Sir extorted  a.promise  tliat 

I  would  see  his  niece  the  next  day,  and  bring  Dr. 
Baillie  with  me,  if  he  should  have  returned  to  town. 
I  was  as  good  as  my  word,  except  that  Dr.  Baillie 
could  not  accompany  me,  being  still  at  Brighton. 


140  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

My  second  interview  witli  Miss  Herbert  was  long', 
and  painfully  interesting.  Slie  and  I  were  alone. 
She  wept  bitterly,  and  recounted  the  incident  before 
mentioned  which  occurred  in  India,  and  occasioned 
her  first  serious  alarm.  She  felt  convinced,  she  told 
me,  that  her  case  was  hopeless ;  she  saw,  too,  that 
her  uncle  possessed  a  similar  conviction,  and  sobbed 
agonizingly  when  she  alluded  to  his  altered  looks. 
She  had  felt  a  presentiment,  she  said,  for  some 
months  past,  which,  however,  she  had  never  men- 
tioned till  then,  that  her  days  were  numbered;  and 
attributed,  too  truly,  her  accelerated  illness  to  the 
noxious  clime  of  India.  She  described  her  sensa- 
tions to  be  that  of  a  constant  void  within,  as  if  there 
were  a  something  wanting — an  unnatural  hollowness 
— a  dull,  deep  aching  in  the  left  side — a  frequent  in- 
clination to  relieve  herself  by  spitting,  which,  when 
she  did,  alas !  alas !  she  observed  more  than  once  to 
be  streaked  with  blood. 

"  How  long  do  you  think  I  have  to  live,  doctor?" 
she  inquired,  faintly. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  madam,  do  not,  for  heaven's  sake, 
ask  such  useless  questions!  How  can  I  possibly 
presume  to  answer  them,  giving  you  credit  for  a 
spark  of  common  sense  V  She  grew  very  pale,  and 
wiped  her  forehead. 

"Is  it  likely  that  I  shall  have  to  endure  much 
pain?"  she  asked,  with  increasing  trepidation.  I 
could  reply  only,  that  I  hoped  not — that  there  was 
no  ground  for  immediate  apprehension;  and  I  fal- 
tered, that  possibly  a  milder  climate  and  the  skill  of 
medicine  might  yet  carry  her  througli.  The  poor 
girl  shook  her  head  hopelessly,  and  trembled  vio- 
lently from  head  to  foot. 

"Oh,  poor  uncle! — Poor,  poor  Edw ."    She 

faltered,  and  fell  fainting  into  my  arms ;  for  the  latter 

allusion  to  Captain  had  completely  overcome 

her.  Holding  her  senseless,  sylphlike  figure  in  my 
arms,  I  hurried  to  the  bell,  and  was  immediately 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  141 

joined  by  Sir  ,  the  governess,  and  one  or  two 

female  attendants.  I  saw  the  baronet  was  begin- 
ning to  behave  like  a  madman,  by  the  increasing 
boisterousness  of  his  manner,  and  the  occasional 
glare  of  wildness  that  shot  from  his  eye.  With  the 
utmost  difficulty  I  succeeded  in  forcing  him  from  the 
room,  and  keeping  him  out  till  Miss  Herbert  had  re- 
covered. 

"  Oh,  doctor,  doctor !"  he  muttered  hoarsely,  after 
staggering  to  a  seat,  "  this  is  worse  than  death.  I 
pray  God  to  take  her  and  me,  too,  and  put  an  end  to 
our  miseiy !" 

I  expostulated  with  him  rather  sternly,  and  repre- 
sented to  him  the  absurdity  and  impiousness  of  his 
wish. 

"  D — n — n !"  he  thundered,  starting  from  his  chair, 
and  stamping  furiously  to  and  fro  across  the  room. 

*'  What  the do  you  mean  by  snivelling  in  that 

way,  doctor?  Can  I  see  my  darling  dying — abso- 
lutely dying  by  inches — before  my  very  eyes,  and 
yet  be  cool  and  unconcerned  1  I  did  not  expect 
such  conduct  from  you,  doctor ;" — he  burst  into  tears. 
"Oh!  Fm  going  mad! — I'm  going  mad!"  and  he 
sunk  again  into  his  seat.  From  one  or  two  efforts 
he  made  to  gulp  down  again,  as  it  were,  the  emo- 
tions which  were  swelling  and  dilating  his  whole 
frame,  I  seriously  apprehended  either  that  he  would 
fall  into  a  fit  or  go  absolutely  raving  mad.  Happily, 
however,  I  was  mistaken.  His  fearful  excitement 
gradually  subsided.  He  was  a  man  of  remarkably 
strong  and  ardent  feelings,  which  he  had  never  been 
accustomed  to  control  even  in  the  moments  of  their 
most  violent  manifestations;  and  on  the  present 
occasion,  the  maddening  thought  that  the  object  of 
his  long,  intense,  and  idolizing  love  and  pride  was 
about  to  be  lost  to  him  irretrievably — for  ever — was 
sufficient  to  overturn  his  shaken  intellects.  I  pre- 
vailed upon  him  to  continue  where  he  was  till  I  re- 
turned from  his  niece,  for  I  was  summoned  to  her 


142  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

chamber.  I  found  her  lying  on  the  bed,  only  par- 
tially undressed.  Her  beautiful  auburn  hair  hung 
disordered  over  her  neck  and  shoulders,  partially 
concealing  her  lovely  marble-hued  features.  Her 
left  hand  covered  her  eyes,  and  her  right  clasped  a 
little  locket,  suspended  round  her  neck  by  a  plain 

black  riband,  containing  a  little  of  Captain  's 

hair.     Miss  B ,  her  governess,  her  maid,  and  the 

housekeeper,  with  tears  and  sobs,  were  engaged  in 
rendering  various  little  services  to  their  unfortunate 
young  mistress ;  and  my  lieart  ached  to  think  of  the 
little — the  nothing — /  could  do  for  her. 

Two  days  afterward.  Dr.  Baillie,  another  physi- 
cian, and  myself  went  down  to  see  Miss  Herbert ; 

for  a  note  from  Miss  B informed  me  that  her 

ward  had  suffered  severely  from  the  agitation  expe- 
rienced at  the  last  visit  I  had  paid  her,  and  was  in  a 
low  nervous  fever.  The  consumptive  symptoms, 
also,  were  beginning  to  gleam  through  the  haze  of 
accidental  indisposition  with  fearful  distinctness. 
Dr.  Baillie  simply  assured  the  baronet  that  my  pre- 
dictions were  but  too  likely  to  be  verified ;  and  that 
the  only  chance  of  averting  the  worst  form  of  con- 
sumption (a  galloping  one)  would  be  an  instant 
removal  to  Italy,  that  the  fall  of  the  3'^ear  and  the 
winter  season  might  be  spent  in  a  more  genial  and 
fostering  climate.  We,  at  the  same  time,  frankly 
assured  Sir ;,  who  listened  with  a  sullen,  despair- 
ing apathy  of  manner,  that  the  utmost  he  had  to  ex- 
pect from  a  visit  to  Italy  was  the  faintest  chance  of 
a  temporary  suspension  of  the  fate  which  hovered 
over  his  niece.  In  a  few  weeks,  accordingly,  they 
were  all  settled  at  Naples. 

But  what  have  I  to  say,  all  this  time,  the  reader 
is  possibly  asking,  about  the  individual  who  was 
singled  out  by  fate  for  the  first  and  heaviest  stroke 
inflicted  by  Miss  Herbert's  approaching  dissolution? 

Where  was  the  lover?     Where  was  Captain ? 

I  have  avoided  allusions  to  him  hitherto,  because  his 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICLVN.  143 

distress  and  agitation  transcended  all  my  powers  of 
description.  He  loved  Miss  Herbert  with  all  the 
passionate  romantic  fervour  of  a  first  attachment; 
and  the  reader  must  ask  his  own  heart  what  were 

the  feelings  by  which  that  of  Captain  was 

lacerated. 

I  shall  content  myself  with  recording  one  little 

incident  which  occurred  before  the  family  of  Sir 

left  for  Italy.  I  was  retiring  one  night  to  rest,  about 
twelve  o'clock,  when  the  startling  summons  of  the 
night-bell  brought  me  again  down-stairs,  accompa- 
nied by  a  servant.  Thrice  the  bell  rung  with  impa- 
tient violence  before  the  door  could  possibly  be 
opened,  and  I  heard  the  steps  of  some  vehicle  let 
down  hastily. 

"  Is  Dr. at  home  ]"  inquired  a  groom,  and  be- 
ing answered  in  the  affu'mative,  in  a  second  or  two 
a  gentleman  leaped  from  the  chariot  standing  at  the 
door,  and  hurried  into  the  room  whither  I  had  retired 
to  await  him.  He  was  in  a  sort  of  half-military  trav- 
elling dress.  His  face  was  pale,  his  eye  sunk,  his 
air  disordered,  and  his  voice  thick  and  flurried.     It 

was  Captain  ,  who    had    been    absent  on  a 

shooting  excursion  in  Scotland,  and  who  had  not 
received  inteUigence  of  the  alarming  symptoms  dis- 
closed by  Miss  Herbert  till  within  four  days  of  that 
v/hich  found  him  at  my  house,  on  the  present  occa- 
sion, come  to  ascertain  from  me  the  reality  of  the 
melancholy  apprehensions  so  suddenly  entertained 
by  Sir and  the  other  members  of  both  families. 

"Good  God!  is  there  no  liope,  doctor  1"  he  in- 
quired, faintly,  after  swallowing  a  glass  of  wine, 
which,  seeing  his  exliaustion  and  agitation,  I  had 
sent  for.  I  endeavoured  to  evade  giving  a  direct 
answer — attempted  to  divert  his  thoughts  towards 
the  projected  trip  to  the  continent — dilated  on  the 
soothing,  balmy  climate  she  would  have  to  breathe 
— it  had  done  wonders  for  others,  &c.  &c. ;  and,  in 
a  word,  exhausted  the  stock  of  inefficient  subterfuges 


144  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

and  palliatives  to  which  all  professional  men  are  on 

such  occasions  com])elled  to  resort.     Captain 

listened  to  me  silently,  while  his  eye  was  fixed  on 
me  with  a  vacant  imobserving  stare.  His  utter 
wretchedness  touched  me  to  the  soul ;  and  yet  what 
consolation  had  I  to  offer  him  1  After  several  pro- 
found sighs,  he  exclaimed,  in  a  flurried  tone,  "  I  see 
how  it  is.  Her  fate  is  fixed,  and  so  is  mine  !  Would 
to  God — would  to  God  I  had  never  seen  or  known 
Miss  Herbert ! — What  will  become  of  us !"  He  rose 
to  go.  "  Doctor,  forgive  me  for  troubling  you  so 
late,  but  really  I  can  rest  nowhere !    I  must  go  back 

to Hall."    I  shook  hands  with  him,  and  in  a 

few  moments  the  chariot  dashed  off. 
Really  I  can  scarcely  conceive  of  a  more  dreadful 

state  of  mind  than  that  of  Captain ,  or  of  any 

one  whose  "heart  is  in  the  right  place,"  to  use  a 
homely  but  apt  expression,  when  placed  in  such 
wretched  circumstances  as  those  above  related.  To 
see  the  death-warrant  sealed  of  her  a  man's  soul 
dotes  on — who  is  the  idolized  object  of  his  holiest, 
fondest,  and  possibly  Jirst  affections ! — yes,  to  see 
her  bright  and  beautiful  form  suddenly  snatched 
do^vn  into  "  utter  darkmess"  by  the  cold,  relentless 
grasp  of  our  common  foe — the  "  desire  of  our  eyes 
taken  away  as  with  a  stroke" — may  well  wither 
one !  That  man's  soul  which  would  not  be  palsied, 
prostrated  by  such  a  stroke  as  this  is  worthless, 
and  worse — it  is  a  foul  libel  on  his  kind.  He  cannot 
love  a  woman  as  she  should  and  must  be  loved. 
Why  am  I  so  vehement  in  expressing  my  feelings 
on  this  subject  ?  Because  in  the  course  of  my  pro- 
fessional intercourse  my  soul  has  been  often  sick- 
ened with  listening  to  the  expression  of  opposite 
sentiments.  The  poor  and  pitiful  philosophy — that 
the  \vord  should  ever  have  been  so  prostituted! — 
which  is  now  sneaking  in  among  us,  fostered  by 
foolish  ears,  and  men  with  hollow  hearts  and  barren 
brains,  for  the  purpose  of  weeding  out  from  the  soul's 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  145 

garden  its  richest  and  choicest  flowers,  sympathy 
and  sentiment — this  philosophy  may  possibly  prompt 
some  reader  to  sneer  over  the  agonies  I  have  been 
attempting-  to  describe ;  but,  oh,  reader,  do  you 
eschew  it — trample  on  it — trample  on  it  whenever, 
wherever  you  find  it,  for  the  reptile,  though  very 
little,  is  very  venomous. 

Captain 's  regiment  was  ordered  to  Ireland ; 

and  as  he  found  it  impossible  to  accompany  it,  he 
sold  out,  and  presently  followed  the  heart-broken 
baronet  and  his  niece  to  Italy.  The  delicious  cli- 
mate sufficed  to  kindle  and  foster  for  a  while  that 
deceitful  igrds  JrUims,  ho\je,\vhich.  always  flits  before 
in  the  gloomy  horizon  of  consumptive  patients,  and 
leads  them  and  their  friends  on — and  on — and  on — 
till  it  suddenly  sinks  quivering  into  their  grave ! — 
They  staid  at  Naples  till  the  month  of  July.  Miss 
Herbert  was  smking,  and  that  with  fearfully  accele- 
rated rapidity.     Sir 's  health  was  much  impaired 

with  incessant  anxiety  and  watching ;  and  Captain 

had  been  several  tim.es  on  the  very  borders 

of  madness.  His  love  for  the  dear  being  who  could 
never  be  his  increased  ten  thousand  fold  when  he 
found  it  hopeless ! — Is  it  not  always  so  1 

Aware  that  her  da^^s  were  numbered,  Miss  Herbert 
anxiously  importuned  her  uncle  to  return  to  England. 
She  wished,  she  said,  to  breathe  her  last  in  her  native 

isle,  among  the  green  pastures  and  hills  of shire, 

and  to  be  buried  with  her  father  and  mother.     Sir 

listened  to  the  utterance  of  these  sentiments 

with  a  breaking  heart.  He  could  see  no  reason  for 
refusing  a  compliance  with  her  request ;  and  accord- 
ingly the  latter  end  of  August  beheld  the  unhappy 
family  once  more  at Hall. 

I  once  saw  a  very  beautiful  lily,  of  rather  more 
than  ordinary  stateliness,  whose  stem  had  been 
snapped  by  the  storm  over-night ;  and  on  entering 
my  garden  in  the  morning,  alas,  alas !  there  lay  the 
pride  of  all  chaste  flowers,  pallid  and  prostrate  on 
N 


146  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

the  very  bed  where  it  had  a  short  while  before 
bloomed  so  sweetly !  This  little  circumstance  was 
forcibly  recalled  to  my  recollection  on  seeing  Miss 
Herbert  for  the  first  time  after  her  return  from  the 
continent.  It  was  in  the  spacious  drawing-room  at 
Hall,  where  I  had  before  seen  her  in  the  eve- 
ning; and  she  was  reclining  on  an  ottoman,  which 
had  been  drawn  towards  the  large  fretted  Gothic 
window  formerly  mentioned.  I  stole  towards  it 
with  noiseless  footsteps,  for  the  hushing,  cautioning 
movements  of  those  present  warned  me  that  Miss 
Herbert  was  asleep.  I  stood  and  gazed  in  silence 
for  some  moments  on  the  lovely  unfortunate,  almost 
afraid  to  disturb  her  even  by  breathing.  She  was 
wasted  almost  to  a  shadow, — attenuated  to  nearly 
ethereal  delicacy  and  transparency.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  plain  white  muslin  gown,  and  lying  on  an  Indian 
shawl,  in  which  she  had  been  enveloped  for  the  pur- 
pose of  being  brought  down  from  her  bedchamber. 
Her  small  foot  and  ankle  were  concealed  beneath 
white  silk  stockings  and  satin  slippers,  through 
which  it  might  be  seen  how  they  were  shrunk  from 
the  full  dimensions  of  healtli.  They  seemed,  indeed, 
rather  the  exquisite  chiselling  of  Canova,  the  repre- 
sentation of  recumbent  beauty,  than  flesh  and  blood, 
and  scarcely  capable  of  sustaining  even  the  slight 
pressure  of  Miss  Herbert's  wasted  frame.  The  arms 
and  hands  were  enveloped  in  long  white  gloves, 
which  fitted  very  loosely ;  and  her  waist,  encircled 
by  a  broad  violet-coloured  riband,  was  rather  that 
of  a  young  girl  of  twelve  or  thirteen  than  a  full- 
grown  woman.  But  it  was  her  countenance — her 
symmetrical  features,  sunk,  faded,  and  damp  with 
death-dews,  and  her  auburn  hair  falling  in  rich,  mat- 
ted, careless  clusters  down  each  side  of  her  alabaster 
temples  and  neck— it  was  all  this  which  suggested 
the  bitterest  thoughts  of  blighted  beauty,  almost 
breaking  the  heart  of  the  beholder.  Perfectly  mo- 
tionless and  statuelike  lay  that  fair  creature,  breath- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  147 

inor  SO  imperceptibly  that  a  rose-leaf  might  have 
slept  on  her  lips  unfliittered.  On  an  easy-chair, 
drawn  towards  the  head  of  the  ottoman,  sat  her 
uncle,  Sir ,  holding  a  white  cambric  handker- 
chief in  his  hand,  with  which  he  from  time  to  time 
Aviped  off  the  dews  which  started  out  incessantly  on 
his  niece's  palHd  forehead.  It  was  affecting  to  see 
his  hair  changed  to  a  dull  iron-gray  hue ;  whereas, 
before  he  had  left  for  the  continent,  it  Avas  jet-black. 
His  sallow  and  worn  features  bore  the  traces  of 
recent  tears. 

And  where  norv  is  the  lover?     Where  is  Captain 

1  again  inquires  the  reader.     He  was  then  at 

INIilan,  raving  beneath  the  tortures  and  delirium  of  a 
brain-fever,  which  flung  him  on  his  sick-bed  only  the 

day  before  Sir 's  family  set  out  for  England. 

Miss  Herbert  had  not  been  told  of  the  circumstance 
till  she  arrived  at  home ;  and  those  who  communi- 
cated the  intelligence  will  never  undertake  such  a 
duty  again ! 

After  some  time,  in  which  we  around  had  main- 
tained perfect  silence,  Miss  Herbert  gently  opened 
her  eyes ;  and  seeing  me  silting  opposite  her  uncle, 
by  her  side,  gave  me  her  hand,  and  with  a  faint 
smile,  whispered  some  ^vords  of  welcome  which  I 
could  not  distinguish. 

"  Am  I  much  altered,  doctor,  since  you  saw  me 
last]"  she  presently  inquired,  in  a  more  audible  tone. 
I  said  I  regretted  to  see  her  so  feeble  and  emaciated. 

"  And  does  not  my  poor  uncle  also  look  very  ill  1" 
inquired  the  poor  girl,  eying  him  with  a  look  of  sor- 
rowful fondness.  She  feebly  extended  her  arms,  as 
if  for  the  pui-pose  of  putting  them  round  his  neck, 
and  he  seized  and  kissed  them  with  such  fervour, 
that  she  burst  into  tears.  "  Your  kindness  is  killing 
me;  oh,  don't,  don't!"  she  murmured.  He  was  so 
overpowered  with  his  emotions,  that  he  abruptly 
rose  and  left  the  room.  I  then  made  many  minute 
inquiries  about  the  state  of  her  health.     I  could 


148  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

hardly  detect  any  pulsation  at  the  wrist,  though  the 
blue  veins  and  almost  the  arteries,  1  fancied,  might 
be  seen  meandering  beneath  the  transparent  skin. 
*  *  *  INIy  feelings  will  not  allow  me,  nor  would  my 
space,  to  describe  every  interview  I  had  with  her. 
She  sunk  very  rapidly.  She  exhibited  all  those 
sudden  deceitful  rallyings  which  invariably  agonize 
consumptive  patients  and  their  friends  with  fruitless 
hopes  of  recovery.  Oh,  how  they  are  clung  to !  how 
hard  to  persuade  their  fond  hearts  to  relinquish  them ! 
with  what  despairing  obstinacy  will  they  persist  in 
"  hoping  against  hope !"  I  recollect  one  evening,  in 
particular,  that  her  shattered  energies  were  so  un- 
accountably revived  and  collected — her  eye  grew  so 
full  and  bright — her  cheeks  were  suffused  with  so 
rich  a  vermihon — her  voice  soft  and  sweet  as  ever, 
and  her  spirits  so  exhilarated — that  even  /  was  stag- 
gered for  a  moment ;  and  poor  Sir  got  so  ex- 
cited, that  he  said  to  me  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy,  as  he 
accompanied  me  to  my  carriage,  "Ah,  doctor,  a 
phcznix^  doctor!  a  phcsnix.  She's  rising  from  her 
ashes — ah!  ha!  She'll  cheat  you  for  once — darhng!" 
and  he  raised  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  for  they 
were  overflowing. 

"  Doctor,  you're  fond  of  music,  I  believe  ;  you  will 
not  have  any  objection  to  listen  to  a  little  now,  M'ill 
you  1     I'm  exactly  in  the  mood  for  it,  and  it's  almost 

the  only  enjoyment  I  have  left,  and  Miss  B plays 

enchantingly.  Go,  love,  please,  and  play  a  mass 
from  Mozart — the  one  we  listened  to  last  night," 
said  Miss  Herbert,  on  one  occasion,  about  a  week 

after  the  interview  last  mentioned.     Miss  B ,  who 

was  in  tears,  immediately  rose,  and  took  her  seat  at 
the  piano.  She  played  with  exquisite  taste  and  skill. 
I  held  one  of  my  sweet  patient's  hands  in  mine,  as 
she  lay  on  the  sofa,  with  her  face  turned  towards 
the  window,  through  which  the  retiring  sunlight  was 
streaming  in  tender  radiance  on  her  wasted  features, 
after  tinting  the   amber-hued  groves  which  were 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  14'9 

visible  through  the  window.     I  need  not  attempt  to 

characterize  the  melting  music  which  Miss  B 

was  pouring  from  the  piano.  I  have  often  thought 
that  there  is  a  sort  of  spiritual,  unearthly  character 
about  some  of  the  masses  of  Mozart,  M^hich  draws 
out  the  greatest  sympathies  of  one's  nature,  striking 
the  deepest  and  most  hidden  chords  of  the  human 
heart.  On  the  present  occasion,  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances in  which  I  was  placed — the  time — the 
place — the  dying  angel  whose  hand  was  clasped  in 
mine — disposed  me  to  a  more  intense  appreciation 
of  Mozart's  music  than  I  had  ever  known  before. 
The  soft,  soothing,  solemn,  swelling  cadences  un- 
dulated one  after  another  into  my  full  heart,  till  they 
forced  the  tears  to  gush  from  my  eyes.  I  was  utterly- 
overcome.  Oh,  that  languishing,  heart-breaking 
music  I  can  never  forget !  the  form  of  Eliza  Herbert 
flits  before  me  to  this  day  when  I  hear  it  spoken  of. 
I  will  not  listen  to  any  one  play  it  now ;  though  I 

have  often  wept  since  on  hearing  it  from  Miss  B , 

to  whom  Miss  Herbert  bequeathed  her  piano. — To 
return.  My  tears  flowed  fast ;  and  I  perceived  also 
the  crystal  drops  oozing  through  the  closed  eyelids 
of  Miss  Herbert.  "  Heart-breaking  music,  is  it  not, 
doctor  ?"  she  murmured.  I  could  make  her  no  reply. 
I  felt  at  that  moment  as  if  I  could  have  laid  down 

my  life  for  her.     After  a  long  pause.  Miss  B 

continuing  all  the  while  playing,  Miss  Herbert  sobbed, 
"  Oh,  how  I  should  like  to  be  buried  while  the  organ 
is  playing  this  music !  And  he — he  was  fond  of  it, 
too !"  she  continued,  with  a  long,  shuddering  sigh. 
It  was  echoed,  to  my  surprise,  but  in  a  profomider 
tone,  from  that  quarter  of  the  room  where  the  grand- 
piano  was  placed.     It  could  not  have  been  from  Miss 

B ,  I  felt  sure ;  and  looking  towards  her,  I  beheld 

the  dim  outline  of  Sir 's  figure  leaning  against 

the  piano,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  white  handker- 
chief.    He  had  stolen  into  the  room  unperceived — 
far  he  had  left  it  half  an  hour  before,  in  a  fit  of  sudden 
N2 


150  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

agitation — and  after  continuing-  about  five  minutes, 
was  compelled  by  his  feelings  again  to  retire.  His 
sigh  and  the  noise  he  made  in  withdrawing  had  been 
heard  by  Miss  Herbert. 

"  Doctor — doctor,"  she  stammered  faintly,  turning 
as  white  as  ashes,  "  who — who  is  that  1  what  was 
it? — Oh,  dear — it  can  never  be — no — no — it  can- 
not"—  and  she  suddenly  fainted.  She  continued  so 
long  insensible  that  I  began  to  fear  it  was  all  over. 
Gradually,  however,  she  recovered,  and  was  carried 
up  to  bed,  which  she  did  not  leave  again  for  a  week. 

I  mentioned,  I  think,  in  a  former  part  of  this  nar- 
rative, Miss  Herbert's  partiality  for  poetry,  and  that 
her  readings  were  confined  to  that  which  was  of  the 
highest  order.  While  sitting  by  her  bedside,  I  have 
heard  her  utter  often  very  beautiful  thoughts,  sug- 
gested by  the  bitterness  of  her  own  premature  fate. 
All — all  are  treasured  in  my  heart ! 

I  have  not  attempted  to  describe  her  feelings  with 

reference  to  Captain ,  simply  because  I  cannot 

do  them  justice,  without,  perhaps,  incurring  the 
reader's  suspicions  that  I  am  slipping  into  the  char- 
acter of  the  novelist.  She  did  not  know  that  Cap- 
tain    continued  yet  at  death's  door  at  Milan, 

for  we  felt  bound  to  spare  her  feelings.  We  fabri- 
cated a  story  that  he  had  been  summoned  into  Egypt, 
to  inquire  after  the  fate  of  a  brother  who  had  travelled 
thither,  and  whose  fate,  we  said,  w^as  doubtful.  Poor 
girl!  she  believed  us  at  last,  and  seemed  rather  in- 
clined to  accuse  him  of  unkindness  for  allowing  a7iy 
thing  to  witlidraw  him  from  her  side.  She  never, 
however,  said  any  thing  directly  of  this  kind.     It  is 

hardly  necessary  to  say  that  Captain  . never 

knew  of  the  fiction.  I  have  never,  to  this  day,  en- 
tirely forgiven  myself  for  the  part  I  took  in  it. 

I  found  her  one  morning  within  a  few  days  of  her 
death  wretchedly  exhausted  both  in  mind  and  body. 
She  had  passed,  as  usual,  a  restless  night,  unsoothed 


DIARY    OF  A  LATE    PHYSICIAN.  151 

even  by  the  laudanum,  which  had  been  administered 
to  her  in  much  larger  quantities  than  her  medical 
attendants  had  authorized.  It  had  stupified,  without 
at  the  same  time  composing  and  calming  her.  Poor 
— poor  girl !  almost  the  last  remains  of  her  beauty 
had  disappeared.  There  was  a  fearful  hollowness 
in  her  once  lovely  and  blooming  cheeks;  and  her 
eyes — those  bright  orbs  which  had  a  short  while 
ago  dazzled  and  delighted  all  they  shone  upon — were 
now  sunk  —  quenched  —  and  surrounded  by  dark 
halos!  She  lay  with  her  head  buried  deep  in  the 
pillow,  her  hair  folded  back,  matted  with  perspira- 
tions.    Her  hands — but  I  cannot  attempt  to  describe 

her  appearance  any  further.     Sir  sat  by  her 

bedside,  as  he  had  sat  all  through  her  illness,  and 
was  utterly  worn  out.     I  occupied  the  chair  allotted 

to  Miss  B ,  who  had  just  retired  to  bed,  having 

been  up  all  night.  After  a  long  silence.  Miss  Her- 
bert asked  very  faintly  for  some  tea,  which  was  pre- 
sently brought  her,  and  dropped  into  her  mouth  by 
spoonfuls.  Soon  after  she  revived  a  little,  and  spoke 
to  me,  but  in  so  low  a  whisper  that  I  had  great  diffi- 
culty in  distinguishing  her  words.  The  exertion  of 
utterance,  also,  was  attended  with  so  much  evident 
pain,  that  I  would  rather  she  had  continued  silent. 

"  Laudanum — laudanum — laudanum,  doctor !  They 
don't  give  me  enough  of  laudanum !"  she  muttered. 
We  made  her  no  reply.  Presently  she  began  mur- 
muring at  intervals  somewhat  in  this  strain  :  "Ah — 
among  the  pyramids — looking  at  them — sketching 
— ascending  them,  perhaps — oh !  what  if  they  should 
fall  and  crush  him?  Has  he  found  his  brother"? 
On  his  way — home — sea— ships — ship."  Still  we 
did  not  interrupt  her,  for  lipr  manner  indicated  only 
a  dim,  dreamy  sort  of  half-consciousness.  About 
an  hour  afterv\\ird  (why  did  I  linger  there,  it  may  be 
asked,  when  I  could  do  nothing  for  her,  and  could 
ill  spare  the  time  1  1  know  not — I  could  not  leave) 
she  again  commenced,  in  a  low,  moaning,  wander- 


152  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

ing-  tone :  "  Uncle !  what  do  you  think  ?  Chatterton 
— poor,  melancholy  Chatterton,  sat  by  my  side  all 

night  long — in  that  chair  where  Dr. is  sitting. 

He  died  of  a  broken  heart — or  of  my  disease — didn't 
he  1 — Wan — wan — sad — cold — ghostly — but  so  like 
a  poet! — Oh,  how  he  talked — no  one  earthly  like 
him ! — His  voice  was  like  the  mysterious  music  of 

an  J^^olian   harp — so    solemn — soft — stealing- ! 

*  *  *  He  put  his  icy  fingers  on  my  bosom,  and  said 
it  must  soon  be  as  cold ! — But  he  told  me  not  to  be 
afraid — nor  weep,  because  I  was  dying  so  young — 
so  early.  He  said  I  M-as  a  young  little  rose-tree, 
and  M'ould  have  the  longer  to  bloom  and  blossom 
when  he  came  for  me."  She  smiled  faintly  and 
sadly.  "  Oh,  dear,  dear ! — I  wish  1  had  him  here 
again !  But  he  looks  very  cold  and  ghostly — never 
moves — nothing  rustles — I  never  hear  him  come  or 
go — but  I  look,  and  there  he  is ! — and  I'm  not  at  all 
frightened,  for  he  seems  gentle — but  I  think  he  can't 

be  happy — happy — never  smiles,  never! *  *  * 

Dying  people  see  and  hear  more  than  others  !" 

This,  I  say,  is  the  substance  of  what  she  uttered. 
All  she  said  was  per\'aded  by  a  sad  romance,  which 
shaved  that  her  soul  was  deeply  imbued  with  poetry. 

"Coll !  —  Toll !  —  Toll !  —  How  solemn !  —White 
plurries ! — White  scarfs ! — Hush — '  Earth  to  eartK' — 
oh,  dreadful ! — It  is  crumbling  on  my  breast !  They 
all  go — they  leave  me  all — poor,  poor  Eliza ! — They 
leave  me  all  alone  in  the  cold  church. — HeHl  often 
w^alk  in  the  church  by  himself — ^his  tears  will  fall  on 
the  pavement — but  /  shall  not  hear  him — nor  see 
him ! — He  will  ne — ver  see  me ! — Will  the  organ 
play,  I  wonder] — It  may  \vake  me  from  sleep  for  a 
while  !"  I  hstened  to  all  this,  and  was  fit  for  nothing 
the  rest  of  the  day.  Again — again  I  saw  her,  to  let 
fall  tears  over  the  withered  petals — the  blighted 
blossoms  of  early  beauty!  It  wrung  my  heart  to 
see  her  little  more  than  a  breathing  corpse.  Oh, 
the   gloom— anguish— desolation,  diffused  through 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  153 

Hall !     It  could  be  felt ;  it  oppressed  you  on 

entering  I 

*  *  *  On  Saturday  morning  (the  —  day  of 
November,  18 — ),  I  drove  down  early,  having'  the 
preceding  evening  promised  to  be  there  as  soon  as 
possible  the  next  day.  It  was  a  cold,  scowling, 
bitter  November  morning,  and  m}^  heart  sunk  within 
me  as  my  chariot  rattled  rapidly  along  the  hard  high- 
way towards Hall.     But  I  was  too  late.     The 

curtain  had  fallen,  and  hid  poor  Eliza  Herbert  from 
this  world  for  ever !  She  had  expired  about  half  an 
hour  before  my  arrival. 

As  I  was  returning  to  town,  after  attending  the 
funeral  of  Miss  Herbert,  full  of  bitter  and  sorrowful 
thoughts,  I  met  a  travelling  carriage  and  four  thun- 
dering down  the  road.  It  contained  poor  Captain 
,  his  valet,  and  a  young  Italian  medical  at- 
tendant, all  just  returned  from  the  continent.  He 
looked  white  and  wasted.  The  crape  on  my  hat — 
my  gloves — weepers — mourning  suit,  told  all  in- 
stantly. I  was  in  a  moment  at  his  side,  for  he  had 
swooned.     As   for  the   disconsolate   baronet,  little 

remains  to  be  said.     He  disposed  of Hall;  and, 

sick  of  England — ill  and  iriitable — he  attempted  to 
regain  his  Indian  appointment,  but  unsuccessfully ; 
so  he  betook  himself  to  a  solitary  house  belonging 
to  the  family  in shire;  and,  in  the  touching  lan- 
guage of  one  of  old,  "  went  on  mourning  to  the  end 
of  his  davs." 


The  Spectral  Dog — an  Ulmion. 

The  age  of  ghosts  and  hobgoblins  is  gone  by,  says 
worthy  Dr.  Hibbert;  and  so,  after  him,  says  almost 
everybody  now-a-days.  These  mysterious  visitants 
are  henceforth  to  be  resolved  into  mere  optical  delu- 
sion, acting  on  an  excitable  fancy  and  an  irritable 
nervous  temperament ;  and'the  report  of  a  real  bona 
fide  ghost  or  apparition  is  utterly  scouted.     Possibly 


154  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

this  may  not  be  going-  too  far,  even  though  it  be  in 
the  teeth  of  some  of  the  most  stubborn  facts  that 
are  on  record.  One  or  possibly  two  of  this  character 
I  may  perhaps  present  to  the  reader  on  a  future  oc- 
casion ;  but  at  present  I  shall  content  myself  with 
relating  a  very  curious  and  interesting  case  of  ac- 
knowledged optical  delusion ;  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  many  of  my  medical  readers  can  parallel  it  with 
similar  occurrences  within  the  sphere  of  their  own 
observation. 

Mr.  D was  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, educated  at  Oxford, — a  scholar,  "  a  ripe  and 
good  one," — a  man  of  remarkably  acute  and  power- 
ful understanding ;  but,  according  to  his  own  account, 
destitute  of  even  an  atom  of  imagination.  He  was 
also  an  exemplary  minister;  preached  twice  wil- 
lingly every  Sunday;  and  performed  all  the  other 
duties  of  his  office  with  zealous  fidelity,  and  to  the 
full  satisfaction  of  his  parishioners.  If  any  man  is 
less  likely  to  be  terrified  with  ghosts,  or  has  less 
reason  to  be  so,  than  another,  surely  it  was  such  a 
character  as  Mr.  D . 

He  had  been  officiating  on  Sunday  evening  for  an 
invalid  friend,  at  the  latter's  church,  a  few  miles' 
distance  from  London,  and  was  walking  homewards 
enjoying  the  tranquillity  of  the  night,  and  enlivened 
by  the  cheerful  beams  of  the  full  moon.  When  at 
about  three  miles'  distance  from  town,  he  suddenly 
heard,  or  fancied  he  heard,  immediately  behind  him, 
the  sound  of  gasping  and  panting,  as  of  a  dog  follow- 
ing at  his  heels,  breathless  with  running.  He  looked 
round  on  both  sides ;  but,  seeing  no  dog,  thought 
he  must  have  been  deceived,  and  resumed  his  walk 
and  meditations.  The  sound  was  presently  repeated. 
Again  he  looked  round,  but  with  no  better  success 
than  before.  After  a  little  pause,  thinking  there 
was  something  rather  odd  about  it,  it  suddenly 
struck  him,  that  what  he  had  heard  was  nothing 
more  than  the  noise  of  his  own  hard  breathing,  oc- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  155 

casioned  by  the  insensibly  accelerated  pace  at  which 
he  was  walking,  intent  upon  some  subject  wliich 
then  particularly  occupied  his  thoug-hts.  He  had 
not  walked  more  than  ten  paces  further,  when  he 
again  heard  precisely  similar  sounds;  but  with  a 
running  accompaniment  (if  I  may  be  allowed  a  pun) 
of  the  pit-pit-pattering  of  a  dog's  feet,  following 
close  behind  his  left  side. 

"  God  bless  me !"   exclaimed  Mr.  D aloud, 

stopping  for  the  third  time,  and  looking  round  in  all 
directions,  far  and  near ;  "  why,  really,  that's  very 
odd — very  !  Surely  I  could  not  have  been  mistaken 
again?"  He  continued  standing  still,  wiped  his 
forehead,  replaced  his  hat  on  his  head,  and,  with  a 
little  trepidation,  resumed  his  walk,  striking  his  stout 
black  walking-stick  on  the  ground  with  a  certain 
energy  and  resoluteness  which  sufficed  in  reassuring 
his  own  flurried  spirits.  The  next  thirty  or  forty- 
paces  of  his  walk  ]\Ir.  D passed  over  "  erectis 

aurihus^''  and  hearing  nothing  similar  to  the  sounds 
which  had  thrice  attracted  his  attention,  was  relaps- 
ing into  his  meditative  mood,  when,  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, the  noise  was  repeated,  apparently  from  his 
right-hand  side  ;  and  he  gave  something  like  a  start 
from  the  path-side  into  the  road  on  feeling  the  calf 
of  his  leg  brushed  past,  as  he  described  it,  by  the 
shaggy  coat  of  his  invisible  attendant.  He  looked 
suddenly  down,  and,  to  his  very  great  alarm  and 
astonishment,  beheld  the  dim  outhne  of  a  large 
Newfoundland  dog — of  a  blue  colour!  He  moved 
from  the  sjwt  where  he  was  standing — ^the  phantom 
followed  him ;  he  rubbed  his  eyes  with  his  hands, 
shook  his  head,  and  again  looked ;  but  there  it  still 
was,  large  as  a  young  calf  (to  which  he  himself 
compared  it),  and  had  assumed  a  more  distinct  and 
definite  form.  The  colour,  hou'ever,  continued  the 
same — faint  blue.  He  observe^,  too,  its  eyes — like 
dim-decaying  firecoals,  as  it  looked  up  composedly 
in  his  face.     He  poked  about  his  walking-stick,  and 


156  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

moved  it  repeatedly  through  and  through  the  form 
of  the  phantom ;  but  there  it  continued — indivisible 
— impalpable — in  short,  as  much  a  dog  as  ever,  and 
yet  the  stick  traversing  its  form  in  every  direction, 
from  the  tail  to  the  tip  of  the  nose  !  Mr.  D hur- 
ried on  a  few  steps,  and  again  looked  ; — there  was 
the  dog!     Now  the  reader  should  be  informed  that 

Mr.  D was  a  remarkably  temperate  man,  and 

had  that  evening  contented  liimself  with  a  solitary 
glass  of  port  by  the  bedside  of  his  sick  brother ;  so 
that  there  was  no  room  for  supposing  his  perceptions 
to  have  been  disturbed  with  liquor. 

"What  can  it  be?"  thought  he,  while  his  heart 
knocked  rather  harder  than  usual  against  the  bars 
of  its  prison  ;  "  oh,  it  must  be  an  optical  delusion — 
oh,  'tis  clearly  so !  nothing  in  the  Avorld  worse  ! 
that's  all.  How  odd !" — and  he  smiled,  he  thought, 
very  unconcernedly;  but  another  glimpse  of  the 
phantom  standing  by  him  in  blue  indistinctness  in- 
stantly darkened  his  features  with  the  hue  of  appre- 
hension. If  it  really  was  an  optical  delusion,  it  was 
the  most  fixed  and  pertinacious  one  he  ever  heard 
of!  The  best  part  of  valour  is  discretion,  says' 
Shakspeare  ;  and  in  all  things  ;  so,  observing  a  stage 
passing  by  at  that  moment,  to  put  an  end  to  the 

matter,  Mr.  D ,  with  a  little  trepidation  in  his 

tone,  ordered  it  to  stop  :  there  Avas  just  room  for  one 

inside ;  and  in  stepped  Mr.  D ,  chuckling  at  the 

cunning  fashion  after  which  he  had  succeeded  in 
jockeying  his  strange  attendant.  Not  feeling  in- 
clined to  talk  with  the  fat  woman  who  sat  next  him, 
squeezing  him  most  unmercifully  against  the  side 
of  the  coach,  nor  with  the  elderly  grazier-looking 
man  fronting  him,  whose  large,  dirty,  top-boots  se- 
riously incommoded  him,  he  shut  his  eyes,  that  he. 
might  pursue  his  thoughts  undisturbed.  After  about 
five  minutes'  riding,  he  suddenly  opened  his  eyes, 
and  the  first  thing  that  met  them  was  the  figure  of 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  157 

the  blue  dog,  lying  stretched  in  some  unaccountable 
manner  at  his  feet,  half  under  the  seat ! 

*'I — I — hope  THE  DOG  does  not  annoy  you,  sir]" 
inquired  Mr.  D ,  a  little  flustered,  of  the  man  op- 
posite, hoping  to  discern  whether  the  dog  chose  to 
be  visible  to  any  one  else. 

"  Sir  !"  exclaimed  the  person  he  addressed,  start- 
ing from  a  kind  of  doze,  and  staring  about  in  the 
bottom  of  the  coach. 

"  Lord,  sir !"  echoed  the  woman  beside  him. 

"A  DOG,  sir,  did  you  say"?"  inquired  several,  in  a 
breath. 

"  Oh — nothing — nothing,  I  assure  you.    'Tis  a 

little  mistake,"  replied   3Ir.   D ,  with  a  faint 

smile  ;  "  I — I  thought — in  short,  I  find  I've  been 
dreaming ;  and  Fm  sure  I  beg  pardon  for  disturbing 
you."     Ever}'  one  in  the  coach  laughed  except  Mr. 

D ,  whose  eyes  continued  riveted  on  the  dim 

blue  outline  of  the  dog  lying  motionless  at  his  feet. 
He  was  now  certain  that  he  was  suffering  from  an 
optical  illusion  of  some  sort  or  other,  and  endea- 
voured to  prevent  his  thoughts  from  running  into  an 
alarmed  channel,  by  striving  to  engage  his  faculties 
with  the  philosophy  of  the  thing.  He  could  make 
nothing  out,  however;  and  the  Q.E.D.  of  his  think- 
ings startled  him  not  a  littie,''^'hen  it  came  in  the 
shape  of  the  large  blue  dog, -leaping  at  his  heels  out 
of  the  coach  when  he  alighted.  An-ived  at  home, 
he  lost  sight  of  the  phantom  during  the  time  of  sup- 
per and  the  family  devotions.  As  soon  as  he  had 
extinguished  his  bedroom  candle  and  got  into  bed, 
he  was  neaily  leaping  out  again  on  feeling  a  sensa- 
tion as  if  a  large  dog  had  jumped  on  that  part  of  the 
bed  where  his  feet  lay.  He  felt  its  pressure  I  He 
said  he  was  inclined  to  rise,  and  make  it  a  subject 

of  special  prayer  to  the  Deity.     Mrs.  D asked 

him  what  was  the  matter  with  him  ]  for  he  became 

very  cold,  and  shivered  a  little.     He  easily  quieted 

her  with  saying  he  felt  t.  little  chilled  ;•  and  as  soon 

O 


158  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

as  she  was  fairly  asleep,  he  got  quietly  out  of  bed, 
and  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  Wherever  he 
moved  he  beheld,  by  the  moonlight  through  the  win- 
dow, the  dim  dusky  outline  of  the  dog,  following 

wherever  he  went !     Mr.  D opened  the  windows, 

he  did  not  ex<ictly  know  why,  and  mounted  the  dress- 
ing-table for  that  purpose.  On  looking  down  before 
he  leaped  on  the  floor,  there  was  the  dog  waiting  for 
him,  squatting  composedly  on  his  haunches !     There 

was  no  standing  tliis  any  longer,  thought  Mr.  D , 

delusion  or  no  delusion ;  so  he  ran  to  the  bed,  plunged 
beneath  the  clothes,  and,  thoroughly  frightened, 
dropped  at  length  asleep,  his  head  under  cover  all 
night!  On  waking  in  the  morning,  he  thought  it 
must  have  been  all  a  dream  about  the  dog,  for  it  had 
totally  disappeared  with  the  daylight.  When  an 
hour's  glancing  in  all  directions  had  convinced  him 
that  the  phantom  was  really  no  longer  visible,  he 

told  the  whole  to  Mrs.  D ,  and  made  very  merry 

with  her  fears — for  she  would  have  it,  it  was  "  some- 
thing supernatural,"  and,  good  lady,  "  Mr.  D 

might  depend  upon  it,  the  thing  had  its  errand !" 

Four  times  subsequently  to  this  did  Mr.  D see 

the  spectral  visitant — in  nowise  altered  either  in  its 
manner,  form,  or  colour.  It  was  always  late  in  the 
evenings  when  he  observed  it,  and  generally  when 
he  was  alone.  He  was  a  man  extensively  acquainted 
with  physiology ;  but  felt  utterly  at  a  loss  to  what 
derangement  of  what  part  of  the  animal  economy  to 
refer  it.  So,  indeed,  was  I — for  he  came  to  consult 
me  about  it.  He  was  Avith  me  once  during  the  pre- 
sence of  the  phantom.  I  examined  his  eyes  with  a 
candle,  to  see  whether  tile  interrupted  motions  of 
the  irides  indicated  any  sudden  alteration  of  the 
functions  of  the  optic  nerve ;  but  the  pupils  con- 
tracted and  dilated  with  perfect  regularity.  One 
thing,  however,  was  certain — his  stomach  had  been 
latterly  a  little  out  of  order,  and  everybody  knows 
the  intimate  connexion  between  its  functions  and 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  159 

the  nen'ous  system.  But  why  he  should  see  spectra 
— why  they  should  assume  and  retain  the  figure  of 
a  dog,  and  of  such  an  uncanine  colour,  too — and 
\vhy  it  should  so  pertinaciously  attach  itself  to  him, 
and  be  seen  precisely  the  same  at  the  various  inter- 
vals after  which  it  made  its  appeaiance — and  why 
he  should  hear,  or  imagine  he  heard,  it  utter  sounds, 
— all  these  questions  I  am  as  unable  to  answer  as 

Mr.  D was,  or  as  the  reader  will  be.     He  may 

account  for  it  in  whatever  way  his  ingenuity  may 
enable  him.  I  have  seen  and  known  other  cases  of 
spectra,  not  unlike  the  one  above  related ;  and  great 
alarm  and  horror  have  they  excited  in  the  breasts 
of  persons  blessed  with  less  firmness  and  good  sense 
than  Mr.  D displayed. 

The  Forger. 

A  GROOM,  in  plain  livery,  left  a  card  at  my  house 
one  afternoon  during  my  absence,  on  which  was  the 
name,  "  Mr.  Gloucester,  No.  — ,  Regent-street  ;" 

and  in  pencil  the  words,  "  Will  thank  Dr. to 

call  this  evening."  As  my  red-book  was  lying  on 
the  table  at  the  time,  I  looked  in  it,  from  mere  casual 
curiosity,  to  see  whether  the  name  of  "  Gloucester" 
appeared  there  ;  but  it  did  not.  I  concluded,  there- 
fore, that  my  new  patient  must  be  a  recent  comer. 
About  six  o'clock  that  evening  I  drove  to  Regent- 
street,  sent  in  my  card,  and  was  presently  ushered 
by  the  man-servant  into  a  spacious  apartment,  some- 
what showily  furnished.  The  mild,  retiring  sunlight 
of  a  July  evening  was  diffused  over  the  room ;  and 
ample  crimson  window-curtains,  half-drawn,  miti- 
gated the  glare  of  the  gilded  picture-frames  which 
hung  in  great  numbers  round  the  walls.  There  was 
a  large  romid  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  covered 
with  papers,  magazines,  books,  cards,  &c. ;  and,  in 
a  word,  the  whole  aspect  of  things  indicated  the  resi- 
dence of  a  person  of  some  fashion  and  fortune.    On 


160  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

a  side-table  lay  several  pairs  of  boxing-gloves,  foils, 
&c.  &c.  The  object  of  my  visit,  Mr.  Gloucester, 
was  seated  on  an  elegant  ottoman,  in  a  pensive  pos- 
ture, with  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  which  rested 
on  the  table.  He  was  engaged  with  the  newspaper 
when  I  was  announced.  He  rose  as  I  entered,  po- 
litely handed  me  to  a  chair,  and  then  resumed  his 
seat  on  the  ottoman.  His  countenance  was  rather 
pleasing — fresh-coloured,  with  regular  features,  and 
very  light  auburn  hair,  which  was  adjusted  with  a 
sort  of  careless  fashionable  negligence.  I  may  per- 
haps be  laughed  at  by  some  for  noticing  such  an 
apparently  insignificant  circumstance  ;  but  the  ob- 
servant humour  of  my  profession  must  sufficiently 
account  for  my  detecting  the  fact,  that  his  hands 
were  not  those  of  a  born  and  bred  gentleman — of 
one  who,  as  the  phrase  is,  "has  never  done  any 
thing'''  in  his  life  ;  they  were  coarse,  large,  and 
clumsy-looking.  As  for  his  demeanour,  also,  there 
was  a  constrained  and  over-anxious  display  of  polite- 
ness— an  assumption  of  fashionable  ease  and  indif- 
ference that  sat  ill  on  him,  like  a  court-dress  fast- 
ened on  a  vulgar  fellow.  He  spoke  with  a  would-be 
jaunty,  free-and-easy,  small-swagger  sort  of  air,  and 
changed  at  times  the  tones  of  his  voice  to  an  offensive 
cringing  softness,  which,  I  dare  say,  he  took  to  be 
monstrously  insinuating.  All  these  little  circum- 
stances put  together  prepossessed  me  with  a  sudden 
feeling  of  dislike  to  the  man.  These  sort  of  people 
are  a  great  nuisance  to  one,  since' tliere  is  no  know- 
ing exactly  how  to  treat  them.  After  some  hurried 
expressions  of  civility,  Mr.  Gloucester  informed  me 
that  he  had  sent  for  me  on  account  of  a  deep  de- 
pression of  spirits  to  which  he  was  latterly  subject. 
He  proceeded  to  detail  many  of  the  symptoms  of  a 
disordered  nervous  system.  He  was  tormented 
with  vague  apprehensions  of  impending  calamity; 
could  not  divest  himself  of  an  unaccountable  trepi- 
dation of  manner,  which,  by  attracting  observation, 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  161 

seriously  disconcerted  him  on  many  occasions ;  felt 
incessantly  tempted  to  the  commission  of  suicide ; 
loathed  society ;  disrelished  his  former  scenes  of 
amusement ;  had  lost  liis  appetite ;  passed  restless 
nights,  and  was  disturbed  with  appalling  dreams. 
His  pulse,  tongue,  countenance,  &c.  corroborated 
the  above  statement  of  his  symptoms.  I  asked  him 
whether  any  thing  unpleasant  had  occurred  in  his 
family"?  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Disappointed  in  an 
affaire  du  cceur?  Oh,  no.  Unsuccessful  at  play? 
By  no  means — he  did  not  play.  Well — had  he  any 
source  of  secret  annoyance  which  could  account  for 
his  present  depression  '\  He  coloured,  seemed  em- 
barrassed, and  apparently  hesitating  whether  or  not 
he  should  communicate  to  me  what  weighed  on  his 
spirits.  He,  however,  seemed  determined  to  keep 
me  in  ignorance,  and  with  some  alteration  of  manner, 
said,  suddenly,  that  it  was  only  a  constitutional  ner- 
vousness— his  family  were  all  so — and  he  wished  to 
know  whether  it  was  in  the  power  of  medicine  to 
relieve  him.  I  replied  that  I  would  certainly  do  all 
that  lay  in  my  power,  but  that  he  must  not  expect 
any  sudden  and  miraculous  effect  from  the  medicines 
I  might  prescribe ;  that  I  sav/  clearly  he  had  some- 
thing on  his  mind  which  oppressed  his  spirits — that 
he  ought  to  go  into  cheerful  society — he  sighed — 
seek  change  of  air — that,  he  said,  was,  under  cir- 
cumstances, impossible.  I  rose  to  go.  He  gave 
me  two  guineas,  and  begged  me  to  call  the  next 
evening.  I  left,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  him. 
To  tell  the  plain  truth,  my  suspicion  M'as,  that  he 
was  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  systematic  London 
sharper — a  gamester — a  hanger-on  about  town — and 
that  he  had  sent  for  me  in  consequence  of  some  of 
those  sudden  alternations  of  fortune  to  which  the 
lives  of  such  men  are  subject.  I  was  by  no  means 
anxious  for  a  prolonged  attendance  on  him. 

About  the  same  time  next  evening  I  paid  him  a 
second  visit.    He  was  stretched  on  the  ottoman, 
02 


162  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

enveloped  in  a  gaudy  dressing-gown,  with  his  amis 
folded  on  his  breast,  and  his  right  foot  hanging  over 
the  side  of  the  ottoman,  and  dangling  about  as  if  in 
search  of  a  stray  slipper.  I  did  not  like  this  elabo- 
rately careless  and  conceited  posture.  A  decanter 
or  two,  with  some  wine-glasses,  stood  on  the  table. 
He  did  not  rise  on  my  entering,  but,  with  a  languid 
air,  begged  me  to  be  seated  in  a  chair  opposite  him. 
**  Good  evening,  doctor — good  evening,"  said  he,  in 
a  low  and  hurried  tone ;  "  I'm  glad  you  are  come, 
for  if  you  had  not,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  done.     I'm  deusedly  low  to-night." 

"  Have  you  taken  the  medicines  I  prescribed,  Mr. 
Gloucester  V  I  inquired,  feeling  his  pulse,  which  flut- 
tered irregularis^,  indicating  a  high  degree  of  nervous 
excitement.  He  had  taken  most  of  the  physic  I  had 
ordered,  he  said,  but  without  perceiving  any  effect 
from  it.  "In  fact,  doctor,"  he  continued,  starting 
from  his  recumbent  position  to  his  feet,  and  walking 
rapidly  three  or  four  paces  to  and  fro,  "  d — n  me  if  I 
know  what's  come  to  me.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  cut 
my  throat."  I  insinuated  some  questions  for  the  pur- 
pose of  ascertaining  whether  there  M-as  an)^  heredi- 
tary tendency  to  insanity  in  his  family ;  but  it  would 
not  do.  He  saw,  he  said  "what  I  was  driving  at,'''' 
but  I  was  "  on  a  wrong  scent." 

"  Come,  come,  doctor,  after  all,  there's  nothing  like 
wine  for  low  spirits,  is  there  1  D — me,  doctor,  drink, 
drink.  Only  taste  that  claret ;"  and  after  pouring 
out  a  glass  for  me,  which  ran  over  the  brim  on  the 
table  (his  hand  was  so  unsteady),  he  instantly  gulped 
down  two  glasses  himself.  There  was  a  vulgar, 
offensive  familiarity  in  his  manner,  from  which  I  felt 
inclined  to  stand  off;  but  I  thought  it  better  to  con- 
ceal my  feelings.  I  was  removing  my  glove  from  my 
right  hand,  and  putting  my  hat  and  stick  on  the  table, 
when,  seeing  a  thin  slip  of  paper  lying  on  the  spot 
where  I  intended  to  place  them  (apparently  a  bill  or 
promissory  note),  I  was  going  to  hand  it  over  to  Mr, 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  163 

Gloucester;  but  to  my  astonishment,  he  suddenly- 
sprung  towards  me,  snatched  from  me  the  paper  with 
an  air  of  ill-disguised  alarm,  and  crumpled  it  up  inTo 
his  pocket,  saying,  hurriedly,  "  Ha,  ha,  doctor,  d — me 
— this  same  little  bit  of  paper — didn't  see  the  name, 
eh  ?  'Tis  the  bill  of  an  extravagant  young  friend  of 
mine,  whom  I've  just  come  down  a  cool  hundred  or 
two  for ;  and  it  wouldn't  be  the  handsome  thing  to 
let  his  name  appear — ha — you  understand  ?"  he  stam- 
mered, confusedly,  directing  to  me  as  sudden  and 
penetrating  a  glance  as  I  ever  encountered.  I  felt 
excessively  uneasy,  and  inclined  to  take  my  depart- 
ure instantly.  My  suspicions  were  now  confirmed ; 
I  was  sitting  familiarly  with  a  swindler — a  gambler 
— and  the  bill  he  was  so  anxious  to' conceal  was  evi- 
dently wrung  from  Qne  of  his  ruined  dupes.  My  de- 
meanour was  instantly  frozen  over  with  the  most 
distant  and  frigid  civility.  I  begged  him  to  be  re- 
seated, and  allow  me  to  put  a  very  few  more  ques- 
tions to  him,  as  I  was  in  great  haste.  I  was  thus 
engaged,  when  a  heavy  knock  was  heard  at  the  outer 
door.  Though  there  was  nothing  particular  in  it,  Mr. 
Gloucester  started  and  turned  pale.  In  a  few  mo- 
m.ents  I  heard  the  sound  of  altercation ;  the  door  of 
the  room  in  which  we  sat  was  presently  opened,  and 
two  men  entered.  Recollecting  suddenly  a  similar 
scene  in  my  OM'n  early  history,  I  felt  faint.  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  character  or  errand  of  the  two 
fellows,  who  now  walked  up  to  where  we  were  sit- 
ting :  they  were  two  sullen  Newgate  myrmidons  and — 
gracious  God!  had  a  warrant  to  arrest  Mr.  Gloucester 
for  FORGERY  !  I  rose  from  my  chair,  and  staggered  a 
few  paces  I  knew  not  whither.  I  could  scarce  pre- 
serv'e  myself  from  falling  on  the  floor.  Mr.  Gloucester, 
as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  officers,  fell  back 
on  the  ottoman,  suddenly  pressed  his  hand  to  his 
heart,  turned  pale  as  death,  and  gasped,  breathless 
with  horror. 
**  Gentlemen,  what — what — do  you  want  here  ?" 


164  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

"  Isn't  your  name  E T 1"  asked  the  elder 

of  the  two,  coolly  and  unconcernedly. 

"  N — o,  my  name  is  Glou — ces — ter,"  stammered 
the  MTetched  young-  man,  almost  inaudibly. 

^^  Gloucester,  eh]  Oh,  d — me,  none  of  that  there 
sort  of  blarney !  Come,  my  kiddy,  caged  at  last,  eh  ? 
We've  been  long  after  you,  and  now  you  must  be  off 
with  us  directly.  Here's  your  passport,"  said  one 
of  the  officers,  pointing  to  the  warrant.  The  young 
man  uttered  a  deep  groan,  and  sunk  senseless  on  the 
sofa.  One  of  the  officers,  I  cannot  conceive  how, 
was  acquainted  with  my  person ;  and  taking  oif  his 
hat,  said,  in  a  respectful  tone,  "  Doctor,  you'll  bring 
him  to  his  wits  again,  an't  please  you ;  we  invst  have 
him  off  directly."  Though  myself  but  a  trifle  re- 
moved from  the  state  in  which  he  lay  stretched  before 
me,  I  did  what  I  could  to  restore  him,  and  succeeded 
at  length.  I  unbuttoned  his  shirt-collar,  dashed  in 
his  face  some  water  brought  by  his  man-servant,  who 
now  stood  looking  on  shivering  with  affiright,  and 
endeavoured  to  calm  his  agitation  by  such  soothing 
expressions  as  I  could  command. 

"  Oh,  doctor,  doctor,  what  a  horrid  dream  it  was ! 
Are  they  gone  1 — are  they  ?"  he  inquired,  without 
opening  his  eyes,  and  clasping  my  hand  in  his,  which 
was  cold  as  that  of  a  corpse. 

"Come,  come,  none  of  these  here  tantrums;  you 
must  o^at  once — that's  the  long  and  short  of  it,"  said 
an  officer,  approaching,  and  taking  from  his  coat- 
pocket  a  pair  of  handcuffs  ;  at  sight  of  which  and  of 
a  large  horse-pistol  projecting  from  his  breast-pocket, 
my  ver}^  soul  sickened. 

"  Oh,  doctor,  doctor,  save  me !  save  me  !"  groaned 
their  prisoner,  clasping  my  hands  with  .convulsive 
energy. 

"Come,  d — n  your  cowardly  snivelling!  Why 
can't  you  behave  like  a  man  now,  eh  1  Come — off 
with  this  peacock's  covering  of  yours — it  was  never 
made  for  the  like  of  you,  I'm  sure — and  put  on  a  plain 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  165 

coat,  and  off  to  ca^e  like  a  sensible  bird,"  said  one 
of  the  two,  proceeding  to  remove  the  dressing-gown 
very  roughly. 

"Oh,  iny  God! — oh,  my  God! — ^have  mercy  on 
me  !  Oh,  strike  me  dead  at  once !"  nearly  shrieked 
their  prisoner,  falling  on  his  knees  on  the  floor,  and 
glaring  towards  the  ceihng  with  an  almost  maniac 
eye. 

"  I  hope  you'll  not  treat  your  prisoner  with  unne- 
cessary severity,"  said  I,  seeing  them  disposed  to  be 
very  unceremonious. 

"  No,  not  by  no  manner  of  means,  if  as  how  he  be- 
haves himself,"  replied  one  of  the  men,  respectfully. 
Mr.  Gloucester's  dressing-gown  was  quickly  removed, 
and  his  body-coat  (himself  perfectly  passive  the 
wliile)  drawn  on  by  his  bewildered  servant,  assisted 
by  one  of  the  officers.  It  was  nearly  a  new  coat, 
cut  in  the  very  extreme  of  the  latest  fashion,  and  con- 
trasted strangely  with  the  disordered  and  affiighted 
air  of  its  wearer.  His  servant  placed  his  hat  on  his 
head,  and  endeavoured  to  draw  on  his  gloves — showy, 
sky-coloured  kid.  He  was  standing  with  a  stupified 
air,  gazing  vacantly  at  the  officers,  when  he  started 
suddenly  to  the  v\indow,  manifestly  with  the  inten- 
tion of  leaping  out. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  thafs  your  game,  my  lad,  is  it  1"  coolly 
exclaimed  one  of  the  officers,  as  he  snatched  him 
back  again  with  a  vicelike  grasp  of  the  collar.  "  Now, 
since  thafs  the  sport  you're  for,  why,  you  must  be 
content  to  wear  these  little  bracelets  for  the  rest  of 
your  journey.  D — me,  it's  your  own  seeking ;  for  I 
didn't  mean  to  have  used  them  if  as  how  you'd  only 
behaved  perfectly."  And  in  an  instant  the  young 
man's  hands  were  locked  together  in  the  handcufts. 
It  was  sickening  to  see  the  frantic  efforts — as  if  he 
would  have  severed  his  hands  from  the  wTists — he 
made  to  burst  the  handcuffs. 

"  Take  me — to  hell,  if  you  choose !"  he  gasped,  in 
a  hoarse,  hollow  tone,  sinking  into  a  chair,  utterly 


166  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

exhausted,  while  one  of  the  officers  was  busily  en- 
gaged rummaging  the  drawers,  desks,  &c.  in  search 
of  papers.  When  he  had  concluded  his  search,  filled 
his  pockets,  and  buttoned  his  coat,  the  two  approached, 
and  told  him  to  rise  and  accompany  them. 

"  Now,  d — me,  are  you  for  a  rough  or  a  quiet  pas- 
sage, eh  ?"  said  one  of  them,  seizing  him  not  very 
gently  by  the  collar.  He  received  no  answer.  The 
wretched  prisoner  was  more  dead  than  alive. 

"I  hope  you  have  a  hackney-coach  in  waiting,  and 
don't  intend  to  drag  the  young  man  through  the 
streets  on  foot  ]"  I  inquired. 

"  Why,  true — true,  doctor,  it  might  be  as  well  for 
us  all;  but  who's  to  stump  up  for  it  ]"  replied  one  of 
the  officers.  I  gave  him  five  shillings,  and  the  servant 
was  instantly  despatched  for  a  hackney-coach.  While 
they  were  waiting  its  arrival,  conceiving  I  could  not 
be  of  any  use  to  Mr.  Gloucester,  and  not  choosing  to 
be  seen  leaving  the  house  with  two  police  officers 
and  a  handcuflfed  prisoner,  I  took  my  departure,  and 
drove  home  in  such  a  state  of  agitation  as  I  have 
never  experienced  before  or  since.  The  papers  of  the 
next  morning  explained  all.  The  young  man  "  living 
in  Regent-street,  in  first-rate  style,"  who  had  sum- 
moned me  to  visit  him,  had  committed  a  series  of 
forgeries  for  the  last  eighteen  months  to  a  great 
amount,  and  with  so  much  secrecy  and  dexterity  as 
to  have  till  then  escaped  detection";  and  had  for  the 
last  few  months  been  enjoying  the  produce  of  his 
skilful  villany  in  the  style  I  witnessed,  passing  him- 
self off  in  the  circles  where  he  associated  under  the 
assumed  name  of  Gloucester.  The  immediate  cause 
of  his  arrest  was  forging  the  acceptance  of  an  emi- 
nent mercantile  house  to  a  bill  of  exchange  for  45/. 
Poor  fellow !  it  was  short  work  with  him  afterward. 
He  was  arraigned  at  the  next  September  sessions  of 
the  Old  Bailey,  the  case  clearly  proved  against  him,  he  \ 
offered  no  defence,  was  found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to 
death.  Shortly  after  this,  while  reading  the  papers  one 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  167 

Saturday  morning  at  breakfast,  my  eye  lit  on  the  usual 
gloomy  annunciation  of  the  Recorder's  visit  to  Wind- 
sor, and  report  to  the  King  in  council  of  the  prison- 
ers found  guilty  at  the  last  Old  Bailey  sessions  ;  "  all 
of  whom,"  the  paragraph  concluded,  "  his  majesty 
was  graciously  pleased  to  respite  during  his  royal 

pleasure,  except  E T ,  on  whom  the  law  is 

left  to  take  its  course  next  Tuesday  morning." 

Transient  and  any  thing  but  agreeable  as  had  been 
my  intimacy  with  this  miserable  young  man,  I  could 
not  read  this  intelligence  with  indifference.  He  whom 
I  had  so  very  lately  seen  surrounded  with  the  life- 
bought  luxuries  of  a  man  of  wealth  and  fashion,  was 
now  shivering  the  few  remaining  hours  of  his  life  in 
the  condemned  cells  of  Newgate  !  The  next  day 
(Sunday)  I  entertained  a  party  of  friends  at  my  house 
to  dinner ;  to  which  I  Avas  just  sitting  down,  when 
one  of  the  servants  put  a  note  into  my  hand,  of  which 
the  following  is  a  copy  : — 

"  The  chaplain  of  Newgate  is  earnestly  requested 

by  E T (the  young  man  sentenced  to  suffer 

for  forgery  next  Tuesday  morning)  to  present  his 

humble  respects  to  Dr. ,  and  sohcit  the  favour  of 

a  visit  from  him  in  the  course  of  to-morrow  (Monday). 
The  unhappy  convict,  Mr. believes,  has  some- 
thing on  his  mind  which  he  is  anxious  to  communi- 
cate to  Dr. .     Newgate,  September  28th,  182 — .*' 

I  felt  it  impossible,  after  perusing  this  note,  to  en- 
joy the  company  I  had  invited.  AYhat  on  earth  could 
the  culprit  have  to  say  to  me  1  what  unreasonable 
request  might  he  put  me  to  the  pain  of  refusing  1 
ought  I  to  see  him  at  all  ]  were  questions  which  I 
incessantly  proposed  to  myself  during  the  evening, 
but  felt  unable  to  answer.  I  resolved,  however,  at 
last,  to  afford  him  the  desired  interview,  and  be  at 
the  cell  of  Newgate  in  the  course  of  the  next  evening, 
unless  my  professional  engagements  prevented  me. 
About  six  o'clock,  therefore,  on  Monday,  after  foi1i- 
fying  myself  with  a  few  extra  glasses  of  wine  (for 


168  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

why  should  I  hesitate  to  acknowledge  that  I  appre- 
hended much  distress  and  agitation  from  witnessing 
so  unusual  a  scene  1)  I  drove  to  the  Old  Bailey,  drew 
up  opposite  the  governor's  house,  and  was  received 
by  him  very  politely.  He  despatched  a  turnkey  to 
lead  me  to  the  cell  where  my  late  patient,  the  soi- 
disant  Mr.  Gloucester,  was  immured,  in  chilling  ex- 
pectancy of  his  fate. 

Surely  horror  has  appropriated  these  gloomy  re- 
gions for  her  peculiar  dwelHng-place  !  Who  that 
has  passed  through  them  once  can  ever  forget  the 
long,  narrow,  lamp-lit  passages, — the  sepulchral  si- 
lence, save  where  the  ear  is  startled  with  the  clangour 
of  iron  doors  closing  harshly  before  and  behind, — 
the  dimly-seen  spectral  figure  of  the  prison  patrol, 
gliding  along  with  loaded  blunderbuss, — and  the  chill- 
ing consciousness  of  being  surrounded  by  so  many 
fiends  in  human  shape, — inhaling  the  foul  atmosphere 
of  all  the  concentrated  crime  and  guilt  of  the  me- 
tropolis !  My  heart  leaped  within  me  to  listen  even 
to  my  own  echoing  footfalls ;  and  I  felt  several  times 
inclined  to  return  without  fulfilling  the  purpose  of  my 
visit.  My  vacillation,  however,  was  abruptly  put  an 
end  to  by  my  guide  exclaiming  "Here  we  are,  sir." 
"While  he  was  unbarring  the  cell  door,  I  begged  him 
to  continue  at  the  outside  of  the  door  during  the  few 
moments  of  my  interview  with  the  convict. 

"  Holloa !  young  man  there,  here's  Dr. come 

to  see  you!"  said  the  turnkey,  hoarsely,  as  he  ushered 
me  in.  The  cell  was  small  and  gloomy  ;  and  a  little 
lamp  lying  on  the  table  barely  sufficed  to  show  me 
the  persons  of  the  culprit  and  an  elderly  respectable- 
looking  man,  muffled  in  a  drab  great-coat,  and  sitting 
gazing  in  stupified  silence  on  the  prisoner.  Great 
God,  it  was  his  father  !  He  did  not  seem  conscious 
of  my  entrance ;  but  his  son  rose,  and  feebly  asked 
nie  how  I  was,  muttered  a  few'-  words  of  thanks,  sunk 
again  (apparently  overpowered  with  his  feelings)  into 
his  seat,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  a  page  of  the  Bible 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  169 

which  was  lying  open  before  him.  A  long  silence 
ensued,  for  none  of  us  seemed  either  able  or  inclined 
to  talk.  I  contemplated  the  two  with  feelings  of 
lively  interest.  How  altered  was  the  young  culprit 
before  me  from  the  gay  "  Mr.  Gloucester"  whom  I 
had  visited  in  Regent-street !  His  face  had  now  a 
ghastly,  cadaverous  hue  ;  his  hair  was  matted  with 
perspiration  over  his  sallow  forehead ;  his  eyes  were 
sunk  and  bloodshot,  and  seemed  incapable  of  distin- 
guishing the  print  to  which  they  were  directed.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  plain  suit  of  mourning,  and  wore  a 
simple  black  stock  round  his  neck.  How  I  shuddered 
when  I  thought  of  the  rude  hands  which  were  soon 
to  unloose  it !  Beside  him,  on  the  table,  lay  a  white 
pocket  handkerchief  completely  saturated  either  with 
tears  or  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead, 
and  a  glass  of  water,  with  which  he  occasionally 
moistened  his  parched  lips.  I  knew  not  whether  he 
was  more  to  be  pitied  than  his  wretched,  heart-broken 
father.  The  latter  seemed  a  worthy,  respectable 
person  (he  was  an  industrious  tradesman  in  the  coun- 
try), with  a  few  thin  gray  hairs  scattered  over  his 
otherwise  bald  head,  and  sat  with  his  hands  closed 
together,  resting  on  his  knees,  gazing  on  his  doomed 
son  with  a  lack-lustre  eye,  which,  together  with  his 
anguish-worn  features,  told  eloquently  of  his  suffer- 
ings! 

"  Well,  doctor,"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  at 
length,  closing  the  Bible,  "I  have  now  read  that 
blessed  chapter  to  the  end  ;  and  I  thank  God  I  think 
I  feel  it.  But  now,  let  me  thank  you,  doctor,  for  your 
good  and  kind  attention  to  my  request.  I  have  some- 
thing particular  to  say  to  you,  but  it  must  be  in  pri- 
vate," he  continued,  looking  significantly  at  his  father, 
as  though  he  wished  him  to  take  the  hint  and  with- 
draw for  a  few  moments.  Alas  !  the  heart-broken 
parent  understood  him  not,  but  continued  with  liis 
eyes  riveted,  vacantly,  as  before. 

"  We  must  be  left  alone  for  a  moment,"  said  the 
P 


170  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

young  man,  rising,  and  stepping  to  the  door.  He 
knocked,  and  when  it  was  opened,  whispered  the 
turnkey  to  remove  his  father  gently,  and  let  him  wait 
outside  for  an  instant  or  two.  The  man  entered  for 
that  purpose,  and  the  prisoner  took  hold  tenderly  of 
his  father's  hand,  and  said,  "  Dear,  dear  father !  you 
must  leave  me  for  a  moment  while  I  speak  in  private 
to  this  gentleman ;"  at  the  same  time  endeavouring 
to  raise  him  from  the  chair. 

"Oh!  yes — yes — what? — of  course,"  stammered 
the  old  man,  with  a  bewildered  air,  rising ;  and  then, 
as  it  were,  with  a  sudden  gush  of  full  returning  con- 
sciousness, flung  his  arms  round  his  son,  folded  him 
convulsively  to  his  breast,  and  groaned — "  Oh,  my 
son !  my  poor  son !"  Even  the  iron  visage  of  the 
turnkey  seemed  darkened  with  a  transient  emotion 
at  this  heart-breaking  scene.  The  next  moment  we 
were  left  alone ;  but  it  Avas  some  time  before  the  cul- 
prit recovered  from  the  agitation  occasioned  by  this 
sudden  ebullition  of  his  father's  feelings. 

"  Doctor,"  he  gasped,  at  length,  "  we've  but  a  few, 
very  few  moments,  and  T  have  much  to  say.  God 
Almighty  bless  you,"  squeezing  my  hands  convul- 
sively, "for  this  kindness  to  a  guilty,  unworthy  wretch 
like  me ;  and  the  business  I  wanted  to  see  you  about 
is  sad,  but  short.  I  have  heard  so  much  of  your 
goodness,  doctor,  that  I'm  sure  you  won't  deny  me 
the  only  favour  I  shall  ask." 

"  Whatever  is  reasonable  and  proper,  if  it  lie  in  my 
way,  I  shall  certainly,"  said  1,  anxiously  waiting  to 
see  the  nature  of  the  communication  he  seemed  to 
have  for  me  to  execute. 

"  Thank  you,  doctor,  thank  you.  It  is  only  this — 
in  a  word — guilty  wretch  that  I  am ! — I  have" — he 
trembled  violently — "  seduced  a  lovely  but  poor  girl 
— God  forgive  me ! — and — and — she  is  now — nearly 
on  the  verge  of  her  confinement!''''  He  suddenly 
covered  his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and  sobbed 
bitterly  for  some  moments.     Presently  he  resumed — 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  171 

"  Alas  !  she  knows  me  not  by  my  real  name ;  so  that 
when  she  reads  tlie  account  of — of — my  execution  in 
the  papers  of  Wednesday,  she  won't  know  it  is  her 
Edward  !  Nor  does  she  know  me  by  the  name  I  bore 
in  Recent-street.  She  is  not  at  all  acquainted  with 
my  frightful  situation,  but  she  must  be  when  all  is 
over!  Now,  dear,  kind,  good  doctor,"  he  continued, 
shaking  from  head  to  foot,  and  grasping  my  hand, 
"  do,  for  the  love  of  God,  and  the  peace  of  my  dying 
moments,  promise  me  that  you  will  see  her;  she 
lives  at ;  visit  her  in  her  confinement,  and  grad- 
ually break  the  news  of  my  death  to  her ;  and  say 
my  last  prayers  will  be  for  her,  and  that  my  ]\Iaker 
may  forgive  me  for  her  ruin !  You  will  find  in  this 
little  bag  a  sum  of  30/. — the  last  I  have  on  earth — I 
beg  you  will  take  five  guineas  for  your  own  fee,  and 
give  the  rest  to  my  precious — my  ruined  Mary  !"  He 
fell  down  on  his  knees,  and  folded  his  arms  round 
mine  in  a  supplicating  attitude.  My  tears  fell  on 
him  as  he  looked  up  at  me.  "  Oh,  God  be  thanked 
for  these  blessed  tears !  they  assure  me  you  will  do 
what  I  ask ;  may  I  believe  you  will  ]" 

"  Yes — yes — yes,  young  man,"  I  rephed,  with  a 
quivering  lip ;  "  it  is  a  painful  task,  but  I  will  do  it — 
give  her  the  money,  and  add  ten  pounds  to  the  thirty 
should  it  be  necessary."  "  Oh,  doctor,  depend  on  it, 
God  will  bless  you  and  yours  for  ever  for  this  noble 
conduct !  And  now,  I  have  one  thing  more  to  ask — 
yes — one  thing" — he  seemed  clioked — "  Doctor,  your 
skill  will  enable  you  to  inform  me — I  wish  to  know 
— is — the  death  I  must  die  to-morrow" — he  put  his 
hand  to  his  neck,  and,  shaking  like  an  aspen  leaf, 
sunk  down  again  into  the  chair  from  which  he  had 
risen — "is — hanging — a  painful — a  tedious" —  He 
could  utter  no  more,  nor  could  I  answer  him. 

"  Do  not,"  I  replied,  after  a  pause, "  do  not  put  me 
to  the  torture  of  listening  to  questions  like  these. 
Pray  to  your  merciful  God ;  and  rely  on  it,  no  one 
ever  prayed  sincerely  in  vain.     The  thief  on  the 


172  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

cross" — I  faltered ;  then  feeling  that  if  I  continued 
in  the  cell  a  moment  longer  I  should  faint,  I  rose, 
and  shook  the  young  man's  hands;  he  could  not 
speak,  but  sobbed  and  gasped  convulsively — and  in 
a  few  moments  I  was  driving  home.  As  soon  as  I 
was  seated  in  my  carriage  I  could  restrain  my  feel- 
ings no  longer,  but  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  I 
prayed  to  God  I  might  never  be  called  to  pass 
through  such  a  bitter  and  afflicting  scene  again  to  the 
latest  hour  I  breathed !  I  ought  to  have  called  on 
several  patients  that  evening,  but  finding  myself 
utterly  unfit,  I  sent  apologies,  and  w^nt  home.  My 
sleep  in  the  night  was  troubled  ;  the  distorted  image 
of  the  convict  I  had  been  visiting  flitted  in  horrible 
shapes  round  my  bed  all  night  long.  An  irresistible 
and  most  morbid  restlessness  and  curiosity  took  pos- 
session of  me  to  witness  the  end  of  this  yomig  man. 
The  first  time  the  idea  presented  itself  it  sickened 
me  ;  I  revolted  from  it.  How  my  feelings  changed 
I  know  not ;  but  I  rose  at  seven  o'clock,  and  without 
hinting  it  to  any  one,  put  on  the  large  top-coat  of  my 
servant,  and  directed  my  hurried  steps  towards  the 
Old  Bailey.  I  got  into  one  of  the  houses  imme- 
diately opposite  the  gloomy  gallow^s,  and  took  my 
station  with  several  other  visiters  at  the  window. 
They  were  conversing  on  the  subject  of  tlie  execu- 
tion, and  unanimously  execrated  the  sanguinary  se- 
verity of  the  laws  which  could  deprive  a  young  man, 

such  as  they  said  E T was,  of  his  life,  for 

an  offence  of  merely  civil  institution.  Of  course  I 
did  not  speak.  It  was  a  wretched  morning ;  a  driz- 
zling shower  fell  incessantly.  The  crowd  was  not 
great,  but  conducted  themselves  most  indecorously. 
Even  the  female  portion — by  far  the  greater — occa- 
sionally vociferated  joyously  and  boisterously,  as  they 
recognised  their  acquaintance  among  the  crowd.  At 
length  St.  Sepulchre's  bell  tolled  the  hour  of  eight — 
gloomy  herald  of  many  a  sinner's  entrance  into  eter- 
nity ! — and  as  the  last  chimes  died  away  on  the  ear. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICL4.N.  173 

and  were  succeeded  by  the  muffled  tolling  of  the 
prison  bell,  which  I  could  hear  with  agonizing-  dis- 
tinctness, 1  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  glistening  gold- 
tipped  wands  of  the  two  under-sheriffs,  as  they  took 
their  station  under  the  shade  at  the  foot  of  the  gal- 
lows. In  a  few  moments,  the  ordinary  and  another 
gray-haired  gentleman  made  their  appearance,  and 
between  them  was  the  unfortunate  criminal.  He 
ascended  the  steps  with  considerable  finnness.  His 
arms  were  pinioned  before  and  behind  ;  and  when  he 
stood  on  the  gallows,  I  could  hear  the  exclamations 
of  the  crowd — "  Lord,  Lord,  what  a  fine  young  man ! 
— Poor  fellow  !"  He  was  dresse*'(  in  a  suit  of  respect- 
able mourning,  and  wore  black  kid  gloves.  His  light 
hair  had  evidently  been  adjusted  with  some  care,  and 
fell  in  loose  curls  over  each  side  of  his  temples.  His 
coimtenance  was  much  as  I  saw  it  on  the  preceding 
evening — fearfully  pale ;  and  his  demeanour  was 
much  more  composed  than  I  had  expected,  froniM-hat 
I  had  witnessed  of  his  agitation  in  the  condemned 
cell.  He  bowed  twice  very^  low,  and  rather  formally, 
to  the  crowd  around;  gave  a  sudden  and  ghastly 
glance  at  the  beam  over  his  head  from  which  the  rope 
Avas  suspended,  and  then  suffered  the  executioner  to 
place  him  on  the  precise  spot  which  he  was  to  oc- 
cupy, and  prepare  him  for  death.  I  was  shocked  at 
the  air  of  sullen,  brutal  indifference  with  which  the 
executioner  loosed  and  removed  his  neckkerchief, 
which  was  white,  and  tied  with  neatness  and  preci- 
sion— dropped  the  accursed  noose  over  his  head,  and 
adjusted  it  round  the  bare  neck — and  could  stand  it 
no  longer.  I  staggered  from  my  place  at  the  window 
to  a  distant  part  of  the  room,  dropped  into  a  chair, 
shut  my  eyes,  closed  my  tingling  ears  with  rny  fingers, 
and  with  a  humed  aspiration  for  God's  mercy  to- 
wards the  wretv^hed  young  criminal,  who  within  a 
very  few  yards  of  me  was,  perhaps,  that  instant  sur- 
rendering his  life  into  the  hands  which  gave  it,  con- 
tinued motionless  for  some  minutes,  till  the  noise 
P2 


174  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

made  by  the  persons  at  the  window,  in  leaving,  con- 
vinced me  all  was  over !  I  rose  and  followed  them 
down  stairs — worked  my  way  through  the  crowd, 
without  daring  to  elevate  my  eyes,  lest  they  should 
encounter  the  suspended  corpse — threw  myself  into 
a  coach,  and  hurried  home.  I  did  not  recover  the 
agitation  produced  by  this  scene  for  several  days. 
This  was  the  end  of  a  forger  ! 

In  conclusion,  I  may  just  inform  the  reader,  that 
I  faithfully  executed  the  commission  with  which  he 
had  intrusted  me ;  and  a  bitter,  heart-rending  busi- 
ness it  was ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  A  MAN  ABOUT  TOWN." 

I  HATE  humbug,  and  would  eschew  that  cant  and 
fanaticism  which  are  at  present  tainting  extensive 
portions  of  society,  as  sincerely  as  I  venerate  and 
wish  to  cultivate  a  spirit  of  sober,  manly,  and  rational 
piety.  It  is  not,  therefore,  to  pander  to  the  morbid 
tastes  of  overweening  saintliness,  to  encourage  its 
arrogant  assumptions,  sanction  its  hateful,  selfish  ex- 
clusiveness,  or  advocate  that  spirit  of  sour,  diseased, 
puritanical  seclusion  from  the  innocent  gayeties  and 
enjoyments  of  life,  which  has  more  deeply  injured 
the  interests  of  religion  than  any  of  its  professed 
enemies ;  it  is  not,  I  repeat,  Avith  any  such  unworthy 
objects  as  these  that,  this  melancholy  narrative  is 
placed  on  record.  But  it  is  to  show,  if  it  ever  meet 
their  eyes,  your  "  men  about  town,"  as  the  ^lite  of 
the  rakish  fools  and  flutterers  of  the  day  are  signifi- 
cantly termed,  that  some  portions  of  the  page  of  pro- 
fligacy are  black— black  with  horror,  and  steeped  in 


DURY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSIC^A^^  175 

the  tears,  the  blood  of  anguish  and  remorse  WTimg 
from  rmned  thousands !  that  often  the  "  iron  is  en- 
tering the  very  soul"  of  those  who  present  to  the 
world's  eye  an  exterior  of  glaring  gayety  and  reck- 
lessness ;  that  gilded  guilt  inust,  one  day,  be  stripped 
of  its  tinselry,  and  flung  into  the  haze  and  gloom  of 
outer  darkness.  These  are  the  only  objects  for  which 
this  black  passage  is  laid  before  the  reader,  in  which 
I  have  undertaken  to  describe  pains  and  agonies 
•which  these  eyes  witnessed,  and  that  with  all  the  true 
frightfulness  of  reality.  It  has,  indeed,  cost  me  feel- 
ings of  little  less  than  torture  to  retrace  the  leading 
features  of  the  scenes  with  which  the  narrative  con- 
cludes. 

"  Hit  him — pitch  it  into  him !  Go  it  boys — go  it ! 
Right  into  your  man,  each  of  you,  like  good  ones  ! 
Top  sa^\^-ers  these  !  Hurra!  Tap  his  claret-cask — 
draw  his  cork !  Go  it — go  it — beat  him,  big  one  !  lick 
him,  little  one !  Hurra !  Slash,  smash — fib  away — 
right  and  left !  Hollo !  clear  the  way  there  !  Rmg ! 
ring !" 

These  and  many  similar  exclamations  may  serve 
to  bring  before  the  reader  one  of  those  ordinary 
scenes  in  London — a  street  row ;  arising,  too,  out  of 
circumstances  of  equally  frequent  occurrence.  A 
gentleman  (!)  prowling  about  Piccadilly,  towards 
nightfall  in  the  month  of  November,  in  quest  of  ad- 
ventures of  a  certain  description,  had  been  offering 
some  impertinence  to  a  female  of  respectable  ap- 
pearance, whom  he  had  been  following  for  some  min- 
utes. He  was  in  the  act  of  putting  his  arm  round 
her  waist,  or  taking  some  similar  liberty,  when  he 
was  suddenly  seized  by  the  collar  from  behind,  and 
jerked  -off  the  pavement  so  violently,  that  he  fell 
nearly  at  full  length  in  the  gutter.  This  feat  was 
performed  by  the  woman's  husband,  who  had  that 
moment  rejoined  her,having  lefther  only  a  very  short 
time  before,  to  leave  a  message  at  one  of  the  coach- 
offices,  while  she  walked  on,  being  in  haste*    No 


176  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

man  of  ordinary  spirit  could  endure  such  rough 
handling  tamely.  The  instant,  therefore,  that  the 
prostrate  man  had  recovered  his  footing,  he  sprung 
towards  his  assailant,  and  struck  him  furiously  over 
the  face  with  his  umbrella.  For  a  moment  the  man 
seemed  disinclined  to  return  the  blow,  owing  to  the 
passionate  dissuasions  of  his  wife ;  but  it  was  use- 
less— his  English  blood  began  to  boil  under  the  idea 
of  submitting  to  a  blow,  and  hurriedly  exclaiming, 
*'  Wait  a  moment,  sir,"  he  pushed  his  wife  into  the 
shop  adjoining,  telling  her  to  stay  till  he  returned. 

A  small  crowd  stood  round.     "  Now,  by ,  sir,  we 

shall  see  which  is  the  better  man  I"  said  he,  again 
making  his  appearance,  and  putting  himself  into  a 
boxing  attitude.  There  w^as  much  disparity  between 
the  destined  combatants,  in  point  both  of  skill  and 
size.  The  man  last  named  was  short  in  stature,  but 
of  a  square  iron-build ;  and  it  needed  only  a  glance 
at  his  posture  to  see  he  was  a  scientific,  perhaps  a 
thoroughbred,  bruiser.  His  antagonist,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  a  tall,  handsome,  well-proportioned,  gen- 
tlemanly man,  apparently  not  more  than  twenty-eight 
or  thirty  years  old.  Giving  his  umbrella  into  the 
hands  of  a  bj'-stander,  and  hurriedly  drawing  off  his 
gloves,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  encounter  with 
an  unguarded  impetuosity,  which  left  him  wholly  at 
the  mercy  of  his  cool  and  practised  opponent. 

The  latter  seemed  evidently  inclined  to  play  a 
while  with  his  man,  and  contented  himself  with  stop- 
ping several  heavily-dealt  blows,  with  so  much  quick- 
ness and  precision  that  every  one  saw  "  the  big  one 
had  caught  a  Tartar'^''  in  the  man  he  had  provoked. 
Watching  his  opportunity,  like  a  tiger  crouching 
noiselessly  in  preparation  for  the  fatal  spring,  the 
short  man  delivered  such  a  slaughtering  left-handed 
hit  full  in  the  face  of  his  tall  adversary,  accompanied 
by  a  tremendous  "  doubling-up"  body-blow,  as  in 
an  instant  brought  him  senseless  to  the  ground.  He 
who  now  lay  stunned  and  blood-smeared  on  the  pave- 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN/  \  177 

ment,  surrounded  by  a  rabble  jeering  the  fallen 
"  swell,"  and  exulting  at  seeing  the  punishment  he 
had  received  for  his  impertinence,  the  conqueror 
pithily  told  them,  as  he  stood  over  his  prostrate 
foe,  was  the  honourable  St.  John  Henry  EfRng- 
stone,  presumptive  heir  to  a  marquisate ;  and  the 
victor,  who  walked  coolly  away  as  if  nothing  had 

happened,  was  Tom ,  the  prize-fighter. 

Such  was  the  occasion  of  my  first  introduction  to 
Mr.  Effingstone ;  for  I  was  driving  by  at  the  time  this 
occurrence  took  place ;  and  my  coachman,  seeing 
the  crowd,  slackened  the  pace  of  his  horses,  and  I 
desired  him  to  stop.  Hearing  some  voices  cry  "  Take 
him  to  a  doctor,"  I  let  myself  out,  announced  my 
profession,  and  seeing  a  man  of  very  gentlemanly 
and  superior  appearance  covered  with  blood  and 
propped  against  the  knee  of  one  of  the  people  round, 
I  had  him  brought  into  my  carriage,  saying  I  would 
drive  him  to  his  residence  close  by,  which  his  cards 
showed  me  was  in street.  Though  much  dis- 
figured and  in  great  pain,  he  had  not  received  any 
injury  likely  to  be  attended  with  danger.  He  soon 
recovered ;  but  an  infinitely  greater  annoyance  re- 
mained after  all  the  other  symptoms  had  disappeared 
— his  left  eye  was  sent  into  deep  mourning,  which 
threatened  to  last  for  some  weeks ;  and  could  any  thing 
be  more  vexatious  to  a  gay  man  about  town  1  for 
such  was  Mr.  Eflingstone — but  no  ordinary  one.  He 
did  not  belong  to  that  crowded  class  of  essenced 
fops,  of  silly  coxcombs,  hung  in  gold  chains,  and  be- 
spangled with  a  profusion  of  rings,  brooches,  pins, 
and  quizzing-glasses,  who  are  to  be  seen  in  fine 
weather  glistening  about  town  like  fireflies  in  India. 
He  was  no  walking  advertisement  of  the  superior 
articles  of  his  tailor,  mercer,  and  jeweller.  No — Mr. 
Effingstone  M^as  really  a  man  about  tozi'ji,  and  yet  no 
puppy.  He  was  worse — an  abandoned  profligate,  a 
systematic  debauchee,  an  irreclaimable  reprobate. 
He  stood  pre-eminent  amid  the  throng  of  men  of 


178  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

fashion,  a  glaring  form  of  guilt,  such  as  Milton  repre- 
sents Satan — 

"  In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent," — 

among  his  gloomy  battalions  of  fallen  spirits.  He 
had  nothing  in  common  with  the  set  of  men  I  have 
been  alluding  to,  but  that  he  chose  to  drink  deeper 
from  the  same  foul  and  maddening  cup  of  dissipa- 
tion. Their  minor  fooleries  and  "naughtinesses," 
as  he  termed  them,  he  despised.  Had  he  not  neg- 
lected a  legitimate  exercise  of  his  transcendent 
talents,  he  might  have  become,  with  little  effort,  one 
of  the  tirst  men  of  his  age.  As  for  actual  know- 
ledge, his  powers  of  acquisition  seemed  unbounded. 
Whatever  he  read  he  made  his  own ;  good  or  bad,  he 
never  forgot  it.  He  was  equally  intimate  with  an- 
cient and  modern  scholarship.  His  knowledge  of 
the  varieties  and  distinctions  between  the  ancient 
sects  of  philosophers  was  more  minutely  accurate, 
and  more  successfully  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
modern,  than  I  am  aware  of  having  ever  known  in 
another.  Few,  very  few  that  ever  I  have  been 
acquaiiiled  with  could  make  a  more  imposing  and 
effective  display  of  the  "  dazzling  fence  of  logic." 
Fallacies,  though  never  so  subtle,  so  exquisitely 
vraisemblant  to  the  truth,  and  calculated  to  evade  the 
very  ghost  of  Aristotle  himself,  melted  away  instan- 
taneously before  the  first  glance  of  his  eye.  His 
powers  were  acknowledged  and  feared  by  all  who 
knew  him — as  many  a  discomfited  sciolist  now  living 
can  bear  testimony.  His  acuteness  of  perception 
was  not  less  remarkable.  He  anticipated  all  you 
meant  to  convey  before  you  had  uttered  more  than 
a  word  or  two.  It  was  useless  to  kick  or  wince 
under  such  treatment — to  find  your  own  words  thrust 
back  again  down  your  own  throat  as  useless,  than 
which  few  things  are  more  provoking  to  men  with 
the  slightest  spice  of  petulance.    A  conviction  of  his 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHTSICIAN.  179 

overwhelming  power  k'ept  you  passive  beneath  his 
grasp.  He  had,  as  it  were,  extracted  and  devoured 
the  kernel,  while  you  were  attempting  to  decide  on 
the  best  method  of  breaking  the  shell.  His  wit  was 
radiant,  and  fed  by  a  fancy  both  lively  and  powerful, 
it  flashed  and  sparkled  on  all  sides  of  you  like  light- 
ning. He  had  a  strong  bent  towards  satire  and  sar- 
casm, and  that  of  the  bitterest  and  fiercest  kind.  If 
you  chanced  unexpectedly  to  become  its  subject,  you 
sneaked  away  consciously  seared  to  your  very  cen- 
tre. If,  however,  you  really  wished  to  acquire  in- 
formation from  him,  no  one  was  readier  to  open  the 
vast  storehouses  of  his  learning.  You  had  but  to 
start-  a  topic  requiring  elucidation  of  any  kind,  and 
presently  you  saw,  grouped  around  it,  numerous,  ap- 
propriate, and  beautiful  illustrations,  from  almost 
every-  region  of  knowledge.  But  then  you  could 
scarce  fail  to  observe  the  spirit  of  pride  and  ostenta- 
tion M'hich  pervaded  the  M'hole.  If  he  failed  any 
where — and  who  living  is  equally  excellent  in  all 
things]  it  was  in  physics.  Yes,  here  he  was  foiled. 
He  lacked  the  patience,  perseverance,  and  almost  ex- 
clusive attention  which  the  cold  and  haughty  goddess 
presiding  over  them  invariably  exacts  from  her  suit- 
ors. Still,  however,  he  had  that  showy  general  inti- 
macy with  its  outlines,  and  some  of  its  leading  fea- 
tures, which  earned  him  greater  applause  than  was 
doled  out  reluctantly  and  suspiciously  to  the  pro- 
foundest  masters  of  science. 

Yet  Mr.  Efiingstone,  though  such  as  I  have  de- 
scribed him,  gained  no  distinctions  at  Oxford ;  and 
why?  because  he  knew  that  all  acknowledged  his 
intellectual  supremacy ;  that  he  had  but  to  extend 
his  foot  and  stand  on  the  proudest  pedestal  of  aca- 
demical eminence.  This  satisfied  him.  And  another 
reason  for  his  conduct  once  slipped  out  in  the  course 
of  my  intimacy  with  him  : — his  overweening,  I  may 
say,  almost  unparalleled  pride  could  not  brook  the 
idea  of  the  remotest  chance  of  failure.    The  same 


180  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

thing  accouHted  for  another  manifestation  of  his  pe^ 
culiar  character.  No  one  could  conceive  how,  when, 
or  where  he  came  by  his  wonderful  knowledge. 
He  never  seemed  to  be  doing  any  thing ;  no  one  ever 
Sana  him  reading  or  writing,  and  yet  he  came  into  the 
world  au  fait  at  almost  every  thing !  All  this  was 
attributable  to  his  pride,  or^  I  should  say  more  cor- 
rectly, his  vanity.  "  Results,  not  processes,  are  for 
the  public  eye,"  he  was  fond  of  saying.  In  plain 
English,  he  would  shine  before  men,  but  would  not 
that  they  should  know  the  pains  and  expense  with 
which  his  lamp  was  fed.  And  this  highly-gifted  in- 
dividual, as  to  intellect,  it  was,  who  chose  to  track 
the  waters  of  dissipation,  to  career  among  their  sunk 
rocks,  shoals,  and  quicksands,  even  till  he  sunk  and 
perished  in  them !  By  some  strange  omission  in  his 
moral  conformation,  his  soul  seemed  utterly  destitute 
of  any  sympathies  for  virtue ;  and  whenever  I  looked 
at  him,  it  was  with  feelings  of  concern,  alarm,  and 
wonder,  akin  to  those  with  which  one  might  con- 
template the  frightful  creature  brought  into  being  by 
Frankenstein.  Mr.  Effingstone  seemed  either  wholly 
incapable  of  appreciating  moral  excellence,  or  wil- 
fully contemptuous  of  it.  While  reflecting  carefully 
on  his  UioavyK^iaia,  which  scvcral  years'  intimacy  gave 
me  many  opportunities  of  doing,  and  endeavouring 
to  account  for  his  fixed  inclination  towards  vice,  and 
that  in  its  most  revolting  form  and  most  frantic  ex- 
cesses, at  a  time  when  he  was  consciously  possessed 
of  such  capabilities  of  excellence  of  every  descrip- 
tion ;  it  has  struck  me  that  a  little  incident  which 
came  to  my  knowledge  casually  afforded  a  clew  to 
the  whole — a  key  to  his  character.  I  one  day 
chanced  to  overhear  a  distinguished  friend  of  his 
father  lamenting  that  a  man  "of  Mr.  St.  John's 
mighty  powers"  could  prostitute  them  in  the  mamrer 
he  did;  and  the  reply  made  by  his  father  was,  with  a 
sigh,  that,  "  St.  John  was  a  splendid  sinner,  and  he 
knew  it."    From  that  hour  the  key-stone  was  fixed 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  181 

in  the  arch  of  his  unalterable,  irreclaimable  depravity. 
He  felt  a  satanic  satisfaction  in  the^  consciousness 
of  being  an  object  of  regret  and  wonder  among  those 
who  most  enthusiastically  acknowledged  his  intel- 
lectual supremacy.  How  infinitely  less  stimulating 
to  his  morbid  sensibilities  would  be  the  placid  ap- 
proval of  virtue — a  commonplace  acquiescence  in 
the  ordinaiy  notions  of  virtue  and  religion !  He 
wished  rather  to  stand  out  from  the  multitude — to  be 
severed  from  the  herd.  "  Better  to  reign  in  hell  than 
serve  in  heaven,"  he  thought ;  and  he  was  not  long 
in  sinking  many  fathoms  lower  into  the  abyss  of 
atheism.  In  fact,  he  never  pretended  to  the  posses- 
sion of  religious  principle  ;  he  had  acquiesced  in  the 
reputed  truths  of  Christianity  like  his  neighbours ; 
or  at  least,  kept  doubts  to  himself,  till  he  fancied 
his  reputation  required  him  to  join  the  crew  of 
fools  who  blazon  their  unbelief.  This  was  "  damned 
Jine:^ 

Conceive,  now,  such  a  man  as  I  have  truly,  but 
perhaps  imperfectly,  described  IMr.  Effingstone — in 
the  possession  of  3000/.  a  year — perfectly  his  own 
master — with  a  fine  person  and  most  fascinating 
manners — capable  of  acquiring  with  ease  every  fash- 
ionable accomplishment — the  idol,  the  dictator  of  all 
he  met — and  with  a  dazzling  circle  of  friends  and 
relatives : — conceive  for  a  moment  such  a  man  as  this 
let  loose  upon  the  to~jcn  !  Will  it  occasion  wonder  if 
the  reader  is  told  how  soon  nocturnal  studies,  and 
the  ambition  of  retaining  his  intellectual  character 
which  prompted  them,  were  supplanted  by  a  blind^^ 
absorbing,  reckless  devotion — for  he  Avas  incapable 
of  any  thing  but  in  extremes — to  the  gaming-table, 
the  turf,  the  cock-pit,  the  ring,  the  theatres,  and  daily 
and  nightly  attendance  on  those  haunts  of  detest- 
able debauchery  which  I  cannot  foul  my  pen  with 
naming  ? — that  a  two  or  three  years'  intimacy  with 
such  scenes  as  these  had  conduced,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, to  shed  a  haze  of  indistinctness  over  the  multi- 
Q 


182  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

farious  acquirements  of  his  earlier  and  better  days, 
and  finally  to  blot  out  large  portions  with  blank  obli- 
vion 1 — that  his  soul's  sun  shone  in  dim  discoloured 
rays  through  the  fogs — the  vault-vapours  of  profli- 
gacy?— that  prolonged  desuetude  v/as  gradually, 
though  unheededly,  benumbing  and  palsying  his  in- 
tellectual faculties'? — that  a  constant  "feeding  on 
garbage"  had  vitiated  and  depraved  his  whole  sys- 
tem, both  physical  and  mental  1 — and  that,  to  con- 
clude, there  was  a  lamentable,  an  almost  incredible, 
contrast  between  the  glorious  being,  Mr.  Effing- 
stone,  at  twenty-one,  and  that  poor  faded  creature 
— that  prematurely  superannuated  debauchee,  Mr. 
Effingstone  at  twenty-seven  1 

I  feel  persuaded  I  shall  not  be  accused  of  travelling 
out  of  the  legitimate  sphere  of  these  "  Passages,"  of 
forsaking  the  track  of  professional  detail,  in  having 
thus  attempted  to  give  the  reader  some  faint  idea  of 
the  intellectual  character  of  one  of  the  most  extraor- 
dinary young  men  tliat  have  ever  flashed,  meteor- 
like, across  the  sphere  of  my  own  observation.  Not 
that  in  the  ensuing  pages  it  will  be  in  my  power  to 
exhibit  him  such  as  he  has  been  described,  doing  and 
uttering  things  worthy  of  his  great  powers.  Alas, 
alas  !  he  \vas  "  fallen,  fallen,  fallen"  from  that  altitude 
long  before  it  became  my  province  to  know  him  pro- 
fessionally. His  decline  and  fall  are  alone  what 
remain  for  me  to  describe.  I  am  painting  from  the 
life,  and  those  are  living  who  know  it :  that  I  am 
describing  the  character  and  career  of  him  who  once 
lived, — who  deliberately  immolated  himself  before 
the  shrine  of  debauchery;  and  they  can,  with  a 
quaking  heart,  attest  the  truth  of  the  few  bitter  and 
black  passages  of  his  remaining  histoiy  which  here 
follow. 

The  reader  is  acquainted  with  the  circumstances 
attending  my  first  professional  acquaintance  with 
Mr.  Effingstone.  Those  of  the  second  are  in  per- 
fect keeping.    He  had  been  prosecuting  an  enterprise 


diAry  of  a  late  physician.  183 

of  seduction,  the  interest  of  which  was,  in  his  eyes, 
enhanced  a  thousand  fold,  on  discovering-  that  the 
object  of  his  ilUcit  attentions  was — married.  The 
victim  was,  I  understood,  a  very  handsome,  fashion- 
able woman ;  and  she  fell — for  Mr.  Effingstone  was 
irresistible !  He  was  attending  one  of  their  assigna- 
tions one  night,  which  she  was  miexpectedly  unable 
to  keep ;  and  he  waited  so  long  at  the  place  of  meet- 
ing, but  slightly  clad,  in  the  cold  and  inclement 
weather,  that  when  he  returned  home  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  morning,  intensely  chagrined,  he  felt  inclined 
to  be  very  ill.  He  could  not  rise  to  breakfast.  He 
grew  rapidly  worse  ;  and  when  I  was  summoned  to 
his  bedside,  he  exhibited  ail  the  symptoms  of  a  very 
severe  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  One  or  two  con- 
current causes  of  excitement  and  chagrin  aggravated 
his  illness.  He  had  been  very  unfortunate  in  betting 
on  the  Derby,  and  was  threatened  with  an  arrest 
from  his  tailor  whom  he  owed  some  hundreds  of 
pounds  which  he  could  not  possibly  pay.  Again — a 
wealthy  remote  member  of  the  family,  his  godfather, 
having  heard  of  his  profligacy,  altered  his  will,  and 
left  every  farthing  he  had  in  the  world,  amounting 
to  upwards  of  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  pounds,  to  a 
charitable  ^institution,  the  whole  of  which  had  been 
originally  destined  to  Mr.  Effingstone.  The  only 
notice  taken  of  him  in  the  old  gentleman's  will  was, 
"To  St.  John  Henry  Eflingstone,  my  unworthy  god- 
son, I  bequeath  the  sum  of  five  pounds  sterhng,  to 
purchase  a  Bible  and  prayer-book,  believing  the  time 
may  yet  come  when  he  will  require  them."  These 
circumstances,  I  say,  added  to  one  or  two  other  irri- 
tating concomitants,  such  as  will  sometimes  suc- 
ceed in  stinging  your  men  about  town  into  something 
like  reflection,  brief  and  futile  though  it  be,  contrib- 
uted to  accelerate  the  inroads  of  his  dangerous  dis- 
order. We  weie  compelled  to  adopt  such  powerful 
antiphlogistic  treatment  as  reduced  him  to  within 
an  inch  of  his  life.    Previous  to,  and  in  the  course 


184  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

of,  this  illness,  he  exhibited  one  or  two  characteristic 
traits. 

"  Doctor,  is  delirium  usually  an  attendant  on  this 
disorder  ?"  he  inquired  one  morning.  I  told  him  it 
was,  very  frequently. 

"  Ah !  then  I  'd  better  become  oyAoxrffoj,  with  one 
of  old,  and  bite  out  my  tongue ;  for,  d — n  it !  my  life 
won't  bear  ripping  up !  I  shall  say  what  will  horrify 
you  all!  Delirium  blackens  a  poor  fellow  sadly 
among  his  friends,  doesn't  it  1  Babbling  devil — what 
can  silence  it  ?  If  you  should  hear  me  beginning  to 
let  out,  suffocate  me,  doctor."     *    *    * 

"Any  chance  of  my  giving  the  great  cut  this 
time,  doctor,  eh?"  he  inquired  the  same  evening, 
with  great  apparent  nonchalance.  Seeing  my  puzzled 
air — for  I  did  not  exactly  comprehend  the  low  ex- 
pression, "  great  cut" — he  asked,  quickly,  "  Doctor, 
shall  I  die,  d'ye  think  ?"  I  told  him  I  certainly  ap- 
prehended great  danger,  for  his  symptoms  began  to 
look  very  serious.  "  Then  the  ship  must  be  cleared 
for  action.  What  is  the  best  way  of  ensuring  re- 
coveiy,  provided  it  is  to  be  ?"  I  told  him  that,  among 
other  things,  he  must  be  kept  very  quiet — must  not 
have  his  mind  excited  by  visiters. 

"  Nurse,  please  ring  the  bell  for  George,"  said  he, 
suddenly  interrupting  me.  The  man  in  a  few  mo- 
ments answered  the  summons.  "  George,  d'ye  value 
your  neck,  eh  ?"  The  man  bowed.  "  Then,  harkee, 
see  you  don't  let  in  a  living  soul  to  see  me,  except 
the  medical  people.  Friends,  relatives,  mother,  bro- 
thers, sisters — shut  them  all  out — And,  harkee,  duns 

especially.     If  should  come    and  get  inside 

the  door,  kick  him  out  again ;  and  if comes, 

and  ,  and  ,  tell  them  if  they  don't  mind 

what  they  ai'c  about,  d — n  them !  I'll  die,  if  it's  only 
to  cheat  them."  The  man  bowed  and  retired.  "  And 
—and — doctor,  what  else  ]" 

"  If  you  should  appear  approaching  your  end,  Mr. 


DIARY   OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  185 

Effingstone,  you  would  allow  us,  perhaps,  to  call  in 
a  clergyman  lo  assist  you  in  your  devo " 

"  What — ell — a  parson  ?  Oh, it !  no,  no — out 

of  the  question — no7i  ad  rem,  I  assure  you,"  he  replied, 
hastily.  "  D'ye  think  I  can't  roll  down  to  hell  fast 
enough  without  having  my  wheels  oiled  by  their 
hypocritical  humbug  ?  Don't  name  it  again,  doctor, 
on  any  account,  I  beg." 

*  *  *  He  grew  rapidly  worse,  but  ultimately 
recovered.  His  injunctions  were  obeyed  to  the  let- 
ter; for  his  man  George  idolized  his  master,  and 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  applications  for  admission  to 
his  master's  chamber.  It  was  well  there  was  no  one 
of  them  present  to  listen  to  his  ravings ;  for  the  dis- 
gorgings  of  his  polluted  soul  were  horrible.  His 
progress  towards  convalescence  was  by  very  slow 
steps ;  for  the  energies  of  both  mind  and  body  had 
been  dreadfully  shaken.  His  illness,  however,  had 
worked  little  or  no  alteration  in  his  moral  sentiments 
— or,  if  any  thing,  for  the  worse. 

"  It  won't  do  at  all,  will  it,  doctor?"  said  Mr.  Ef- 
fingstone, when  I  was  visiting  him  one  morning  at 

the  house  of  a  titled  relation  in square,  whither 

he  had  been  removed  to  prepare  for  a  jaunt  to  the 
continent.  "  What  do  you  allude  to,  Mr.  Effingstone  ? 
What  won't  do  ?"  I  asked,  for  I  knew  not  to  what  he 
alluded,  as  the  question  was  the  first  break  of  a  long 
pause  in  our  conversation,  which  had  been  quite  of  a 
miscellaneous  character.  "  What  won't  do  ?  Why, 
the  sort  of  life  I  have  been  leading  about  town  these 
two  or  three  last  years,"  he  replied.  "  It  has  nearly 
wound  me  up,  has  it  not  ?" 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Effingstone,  I  think  so.  You  have  had 
a  very,  very  narrow  escape — have  been  within  a  hair's 
breadth  of  your  grave."  "  Ay,"  he  exclaimed  with 
a  sigh,  rubbing  his  hand  rapidly  over  his  noble  fore- 
head, "  'twas  a  complete  toss  up  whether  I  should  go 
or  stay !  But  come,  come,  the  good  ship  has  weath- 
ered the  storm  bravely,  though  she  has  been  battered 
Q2 


186  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

a  little  in  her  timbers !"  said  he,  striking  his  breast, 
"  and  she's  fit  for  sea  again  already,  with  a  little  caulk- 
ing, that  is.  Heigho !  what  a  d — d  fool  illness  makes 
a  man!  I've  had  some  of  the  strangest,  oddest 
twingings — such  gleams  and  visions!  What  d'ye 
think,  doctor,  I've  had  dinging  in  my  ears  night  and 
day,  like  a  d — d  church-bell  1  Why,  a  passage  from 
old  Persius,  and  this  is  it  (you  know  I  was  a  dab  at 
Latin  once,  doctor),  rotundo  ore, 

'  Magne  Pater  divuiia  I  saevos  punire  tyrannos 
Haud  alia  ratione  velis,  quum  dira  libido 
Moverit  ingenium,  ferventi  lincta  veneno ; 
— Virtutem  videant — iiitabescantque  relictd.  '.'* 

True  and  forcible  enough,  isn't  it  1" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  and  expressed  my  satisfaction  at 
his  altered  sentiments.  "  He  might  rely  on  it,"  I 
ventured  to  assure  him,  "  that  the  paths  of  virtue,  of 
rehgion" I  was  going  too  fast. 

"  Pho,  pho,  doctor !  No  humbug,  I  beg — come, 
come,  no  humbug — no  nonsense  of  that  sort!  I 
meant  nothing  of  the  kind,  I  can  assure  you !  I'm  a 
better  Bentley  than  you,  I  see  !  What  d'ye  think  is 
my  reading  of  ^virtutem  videant?^  Why — let  them 
get  wives  when  they're  worn  out  and  want  nursing — 
ah,  ha! — curse  me  !  I'd  go  on  raking — ay,  d— n  it,  I 
would,  sour  as  you  look  about  it!  But  I'm  too 
much  +he  worse  for  wear  at  present — I  must  recruit 
a  little." 

"  Mr.  Effingstone,  I'm  really  confounded  at  hearing 
you  talk  in  so  light  a  strain !  Forgive  me,  my  dear 
sir,  but" 

"Fiddle-de-dee,  doctor!  Of  course  I'll  forgive 
you,  if  you  won't  repeat  the  offence.  'Tis  unpleas- 
ant— a  nuisance — His,  upon  my  soul !  Well,  how- 
ever, what  do  you  think  is  the  upshot  of  the  whole 
— the  practical  point — the  winding  up  of  affairs — the 

*  Pers.  Sat.  iii. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  187 

balancing  of  the  books" — ^lie  delighted  in  accumula- 
tions of  this  sort — "  the  shutting  up  of  the  volume, 
eh  1  I'm  going  to  get  married !  I'm  at  dead  low- 
Avatermark  in  money-matters — and,  in  short,  I  re- 
peat it,  I  intend  to  marry — a  gold  bag !  A  good  move, 
isn't  it  1  But  to  be  candid,  I  can't  take  all  the  credit 
of  the  thing  to  myself,  either,  having  been  a  trifle 
bored,  bullied,  badgered  into  it  by  the  family.  They 
say  the  world  cries  shame  on  me  !  simpletons,  why 
listen  to  the  world  ?  I  only  laugh,  ha,  ha,  ha !  and 
cry,  curse  on  the  world — and  so  we  are  quits  with 
one  another !  By-tlie-way,  the  germ  of  that's  to  be 
found  in  that  worthy  fellow  Plautus  !" 

All  this,  uttered  with  Mr.  Effingstone's  character- 
istic emphasis  and  rapidity  of  tone  and  manner, 
conveyed  his  real  sentiments ;  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  carried  them  into  effect.  He  spent  two  or 
three  months  in  the  south  of  France ;  and  not  long 
after  his  return  to  England,  with  restored  health  and 
energies,  he  singled  out  from  among  the  many,  many 
women  who  would  have  exulted  in  being  an  object 
of  the  attentions  of  the  accomplished,  the  celebrated 

Mr.  Effingstone,  Lady  E ,  the  very  flower 

of  Enghsh  aristocratical  beauty,  daughter  of  a  dis- 
tinguished peer,  and  sole  heiress  to  the  immense 
estates  of  an  aged  baronet  in shire. 

The  unceasing,  exclusive  attentions  exacted  from 
her  suitor  by  this  haughty  young  beauty  operated 
for  a  while  as  a  salutary  check  upon  Mr.  Effmg- 
stone's  reviving  propensities  to  dissipation.  So  long 
as  there  was  the  most  distant  possibility  of  his  being 
rejected,  he  was  her  willing  slave  at  all  hours,  on  all 
occasions ;  yielding  implicit  obedience,  and  making 
incessant  sacrifices  of  his  own  personal  conveuiences. 
As  soon,  however,  as  he  had  "  run  down  the  game," 
as  he  called  it,  and  the  young  lady  was  so  far  com- 
promised in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  as  to  render 
retreat  next  to  impossible,  he  began  to  slacken  in  his 
attentions ;  not,  however,  so  palpably  and  visibly  as 


188  PASSAGES  FROM   THE 

to  alarm  either  her  ladyship  or  any  of  their  mutual 
relations  or  friends.  He  compensated  for  the  atten- 
tions he  was  obliged  to  pay  her  by  day,  by  the  most 
extravagant  nightly  excesses.  The  pursuits  of 
intellect,  of  literature  and  philosophy,  were  utterly 
and  apparently  finally  discarded — and  for  what  ?  For 
wallowing  swinishly  in  the  foulest  sinks  of  depravity ; 
herding  among  the  acknowledged  outcasts,  com- 
mingling intimately  with  the  very  scum  and  refuse 
of  society,  and  revelling  amid  the  hellish  orgies 
celebrated  nightly  in  haunts  of  nameless  infamy. 
Gambling,  gluttony,  drunkenness,  harlotry,  blas- 
phemy !     *    * 

[I  cannot  bring  myself  to  make  public  the  shock- 
ing details  with  which  the  five  following  pages  of 

Dr 's  Diary  are  occupied.     If  printed,  they  would 

appear  to  many  absolutely  incredible.  They  are 
little  else  than  a  corroboration  of  what  is  advanced 
in  the  sentences  immediately  preceding  this  inter- 
jected paragraph.  What  follows  must  be  given  only 
in  a  fragmentaiy  form — the  cup  of  horror  must  be 
poured  out  before  the  reader  only  Kard  aTdyova*] 

Mr.  Effingstone  one  morning  accompanied  Lady 

E and  her  mother  to  one  of  the  fashionable 

shops,  for  the  purpose  of  aiding  the  former  in  her 
choice  of  some  beautiful  Chinese  toys  to  complete 
the  ornamental  department  of  her  boudoir.  After 
having  purchased  some  of  the  most  splendid  and 
costly  articles  which  had  been  exhibited,  the  ladies 
drew  on  their  gloves,  and  gave  each  an  arm  to  Mr. 
Effingstone,  to  lead  them  to  the   carriage.      Lady 

E was  in  a  flutter  of  unusually  animated  spirits, 

and  was  complimenting  Mr.  EfRngstone,  in  enthusi- 
astic terms,  on  the  taste  with  which  he  had  guided  their 
purchases ;  and  they  had  left  the  shop-door,  the  foot- 
man was  letting  down  the  carriage-steps,  when  a  very 
young  woman,  elegantly  dressed,  who  happened  to  be 

*  Alex,  in  Aphrodio. 


DIARY     OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  189 

passing  at  tliat  moment,  seemingly  in  a  state  of  deep 
dejection,  suddenly  started  on  seeing  and  recognising 
Mr.  Effingstone,  placed  herself  between  them  and 
the  carriage,  and  lifting  her  clasped  hands,  exclaimed 
in  piercing  accents,  "Oh,  Henry,  Henry,  Henry! 
how  cruelly  you  have  deserted  your  poor  ruined  girl ! 
What  have  I  done  to  deserve  it  ?  I'm  broken-hearted, 
and  can  rest  nowhere !  I've  been  walking  up  and 
down  M street  nearly  three  hours  this  morn- 
ing to  get  a  sight  of  you,  but  could  not !  Oh,  Henry ! 
how  differently  you  said  you  would  behave  before 

you  brought    me  up    from  shire !"     All    this 

was  uttered  with  the  impassioned  vehemence  and 
rapidity  of  highly-excited  feelings,  and  uninterrupt- 
edly, for  both  Lady  E and  her  mother  seemed 

perfectly  petrified,  and  stood  pale  and  speechless. 
Mr.  Effingstone,  too,  was  for  a  moment  thunder- 
struck ;  but  an  instant's  reflection  showed  him  the 
necessity  of  acting  with  decision  one  way  or  another. 
Though  deadly  pale,  he  did  not  disclose  any  other 
symptom  of  agitation  ;  and  with  an  assumed  air  of 
astonishment  and  irrecognition,  exclaimed,  concern- 
edly, "Poor  creature!  unfortunate  thing!  Some 
strange  mistake  this !"  "  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  Henry !  it's 
no  mistake  !  You  know  me  well  enough — I'm  your 
own  poor  Hannah !" 

"  Pho,  pho !  nonsense,  woman !  /  never  saw  you 
before." 

"  Never  saw  me  !  never  saw  me !"  almost  shrieke^d 
the  girl,  "and  is  it  come  to  this  1" 

"  Woman,  don't  be  foolish — cease,  or  we  must  give 
you  over  to  an  officer  as  an  impostor,"  said  Mr.  Ef- 
fingstone, the  perspiration  bursting  from  every  pore. 
"  Come,  come,  your  ladyships  had  better  allow  me 
to  hand  you  into  the  carriage.  See,  there's  a  crowd 
collecting." 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Effingstone,"  replied  Lady  E -'s 

mother,  with  excessive  agitation ;  "  this  very  singu- 
lar, strange  affair— if  it  is  a  mistake— had  better  be 


190  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

I 

set  right  on  the  spot.  Here,  young  woman,  can  you 
tell  me  what  is  the  name  of  this  gentleman  ?"  point- 
ing to  Mr.  Effingstone. 

"  EfRngstone,  Effingstone,  to  be  sure,  ma'am," 
sobbed  the  girl,  looking  imploringly  at  him.  The 
instant  she  had  uttered  his  name,  the  two  ladies, 
dreadfully  agitated,  withdrew  their  arms  from  his, 
and,  with  the  footman's  assistance,  stepped  into  their 
carriage  and  drove  off"  rapidly,  leaving  Mr.  Effingstone 
bowing,  kissing  his  hand,  and  assuring  them  that  he 

should  "  soon  settle  this  absurd  affair,"  and  be  at 

street  before  their  ladyships.  They  heard  him  not, 
however ;  for  the  instant  the  carriage  had  set  off"  Lady 
E fainted. 

"  Young  woman,  you  are  quite  mistaken  in  me — I 
never  saw  you  before.  Here  is  my  card — come  to 
me  at  eight  to-night,"  he  added,  in  an  under-tone,  so 
as  to  be  heard  by  none  but  her  he  addressed.  She 
took  the  hint,  appeared  pacified,  and  each  withdrew 
different  ways — Mr.  Effingstone  almost  suffocated 
with  suppressed  execrations.  He  flung  himself  into 
a  hackney-coach,  and  ordered  it  to street,  in- 
tending to  assure  Lady  E ,  with  a  smile,  that  he 

had  instantly  "  put  an  end  to  the  ridiculous  affair." 
His  knock,  however,  brought  him  a  prompt "  Not  at 
home,"  though  their  carriage  had  but  the  instant  be- 
fore driven  from  the  door.  He  jumped  again  into 
the  coach,  almost  gnashing  his  teeth  with  fury,  drove 
home,  and  despatched  his  groom  with  a  note  and 
orders  to  wait  an  answer.     He  soon  brought  it  back, 

with  the  intelligence  that  Lord  and  Lady had 

given  their  porter  orders  to  reject  all  letters  or  mes- 
sages from  Mr.  Effingstone  !  So  there  was  an  end 
of  all  hopes  from  that  quarter.  This  is  the  history 
of  what  was  mysteriously  hinted  at  in  one  of  the 
papers  of  the  day,  as  a  "  strange  occurrence  in  high 
life  which  would  probably  break  off  a  matrimonial 
affair  long  considered  as  settled."  But  how  did  Mr. 
Effingstone  receive  his  ruined  dupe  at  the  appointed 


DLVRY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  l&l 

hour  of  eight  1  He  answered  her  expected  knock 
himself. 

"  Now,  look, !"  said  he,  sternly,  extending  his 

arm  to  her  menacingly,  "  if  ever  you  presume  to 

darken  my  doors  again,  by ,  I'll  murder  you !    I 

give  you  fair  warning.  You've  ruined  me — you  have, 
you  accursed  creature !" 

"  Oh,  my  God !  What  am  I  to  do  to  live  ?  What 
is  to  become  of  me  V  gi'oaned  the  victim. 

"  Do  ?  why  go  and  be !    And  here's  something 

to  help  you  on  your  way — there  !"  and  he  flung  her  a 
check  for  oOL,  and  shut  the  door  violently  in  her  face. 

Mr.  Effingstone  now  plunged  into  profligacy  with 
a  spirit  of  almost  diabolical  desperation.  Divers 
dark  hints,  stinging  innuendoes,  appeared  in  the  pa- 
pers, of  his  disgraceful  notoriety  in  certain  scenes 
of  an  abominable  description.  But  he  laughed  at 
them.  His  family  at  length  cast  him  off,  and  refused 
to  recognise  him  till  he  chose  to  alter  his  courses — 
to  "  purge." 

****** 

Mr.  Effingstone  -was  boxing  one  morning  with  Be- 
lasco — I  think  it  was — at  the  tatter's  rooms  ;  and  was 
preparing  to  plant  a  hit  which  the  fighter  had  defied 
him  to  do,  when  he  suddenly  dropped  his  guard, 
turned  pale,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  fell  fainting  into 
the  arms  of  the  astomided  boxer.  He  had  several 
days  previously  suspected  himself  the  subject  of  in- 
disposition— how  could  it  be  otherwise,  keeping  such 
hours  and  living  such  a  life  as  he  did — but  not  of  so 
serious  a  natm^e  as  to  prevent  him  from  going  out  as 
usual.  As  soon  as  he  had  recovered  and  swallowed 
a  few  drops  of  spirits  and  water,  he  drove  home,  in- 
tending to  have  sent  immediately  for  Mr. ,  the 

well-known  surgeon  ;  but  on  arriving  at  his  rooms, 
he  found  a  travelling  carriage-and-four  waiting  before 
the  door,  for  the  purpose  of  conveying  him  instantly 
to  the  bedside  of  his  dying  mother,  in  a  distant  part  of 
England,  as  she  wished  personally  to  communicate  to 


192  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

him  something  of  importance  before  she  died.  This  he 
learned  from  two  of  his  relatives  who  were  up-stairs 
giving  directions  to  his  servant  to  pack  up  his  clothes 
and  make  other  preparations  for  his  journey,  so  that 
nothing  might  detain  him  from  setting  off  the  in- 
stant he  arrived  at  his  rooms.  He-  was  startled — 
alarmed — confounded  at  all  this.  Good  God!  he 
thought,  what  was  to  become  of  him  1  He  was  ut- 
terly unfit  to  undertake  a  journey,  requiring  instant 
medical  attendance,  which  had  already  been  too  long 
deferred ;  for  his  dissipation  had  already  made  rapid 
inroads  on  his  constitution.  Yet  what  was  to  be 
done  ?  His  situation  was  such  as  could  not  be  com- 
municated to  his  brother  and  sister-in-law — for  he 
did  not  choose  to  encounter  their  sarcastic  reproaches. 
He  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  get  into  the  carriage 

with  them,  go  down  to shire,  and  when  there 

devise  some  plausible  pretext  for  returning  instantly 
to  town.  That,  however,  he  found  impracticable. 
His  mother  would  not  trust  him  out  of  her  sight  one 
instant,  night  or  day — but  kept  his  hand  close  locked 
in  hers ;  he  was  also  surrounded  by  the  congregated 
members  of  the  family — and  could  literally  scarce 
stir  out  of  the  house  an  instant.  He  dissembled  his  ill- 
ness with  tolerable  success,  till  his  aggravated  agonies 
drove  him  almost  beside  himself.  Without  breathing  a 
syllable  to  any  one  but  his  own  man,  whom  he  took  with 
him,  he  suddenly  left  the  house,  and  without  even  a 
change  of  clothes  threw  himself  into  the  first  London 
coach,  and  by  two  o'clock  the  next  day  was  at  his 
own  rooms  in  M street,  in  a  truly  deplorable  con- 
dition, and  attended  by  Sir and  myself.     The 

consternation  of  his  family  in shire  may  be  con- 
ceived. He  trumped  up  some  story  about  his  being 
obliged  to  stand  second  in  a  duel — but  his  real  state 
was  soon  discovered.  Nine  weeks  of  unmitigated 
agony  were  passed  by  Mr.  Effingstone — the  virulence 
of  his  disorder  for  a  long  time  setting  at  defiance  all 
that  medicine  could  do.     This  illness  also  broke  him 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  193 

do^vn  sa^y,  and  we  recommended  to  him  a  second 
sojournMn  the  south  of  France — for  which  he  set 
out  the  instant  he  could  undertake  the  journey  with 
safety.  Much  of  his  peculiar  character  was  devel- 
oped in  this  illness ;  that  haughty,  reckless  spirit  of 
defiance,  that  contemptuous  disregard  of  the  sacred 
consolations  of  religion,  that  sullen  indifference  as 
to  the  event  which  might  await  him,  which  his  pre- 
vious character  would  have  warranted  me  in  pre- 
dicting. 

About  seven  months  from  the  period  last  mentioned 
(his  return  from  the  continent),  I  received  one  Sun- 
day evening  a  note  written  in  hurried  characters ; 
and  a  hasty  glance  at  the  seal,  which  bore  Mr.  Ef- 
•fingstone's  crest,  filled  me  with  sudden  vague  appre- 
hensions that  some  misfortune  or  other  had  befallen 
him.     This  was  the  note  : — 

"  Dear  Doctor, — For  God's  sake  come  and  see  me 
immediately,  for  I  have  this  day  arrived  in  London 
from  the  continent,  and  am  suffering  the  tortures  of 
the  damned,  both  in  mind  and  body.  Come — come — 
in  God's  name  come  instantly,  or  I  shall  go  mad. 
Not  a  word  of  my  return  to  any  one  till  I  have  seen 
you.  You  will  find  me — in  short  my  man  will  accom- 
pany you.  Yours  in  agony,  St.  J.  H.  Efiingstone. 
Sunday  evening,  November,  18 — ." 

Tongue  cannot  utter  the  dismay  with  which  this 
note  fiUed  me.  His  unexpected  return  from  abroad, 
the  obscure  and  distant  part  of  the  town  (St.  George's 
in  the  East)  where  he  had  established  himself,  the 
dreadful  terms  in  Avhich  his  note  was  couched,  re- 
vived, amid  a  variety  of  vague  conjectures,  certain 
fearful  apprehensions  for  him  which  I  had  begim  to 
entertain  before  he  quitted  England.  I  ordered  out 
my  chariot  instantly ;  his  groom  moimted  the  box 
to  guide  the  coachman,  and  we  drove  dowii'^rapidlj^ 
A  sudden  recollection  of  the  contents  of  several  of 
the  letters  he  had  sent  me  latterly  from  the  contii^rit  ■ 


194  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

at  my  request  served  to  corroborate  my  worst  fears. 
I  had  given  him  over  for  lost,  by  the  time  my  chariot 
drew  up  opposite  the  house  where  he  had  so  strangely 
taken  up  his  abode.  The  street  and  neighbourhood, 
though  not  clearly  discernible  through  the  fogs  of  a 
November  evening,  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
aristocratical  regions  to  which  my  patient  had  been 

accustomed.    row  was  narrow^  and  the  houses 

were  small,  yet  clean  and  creditable-looking.  On 
entering  No.  — ,  the  landlady,  a  person  of  quiet  re- 
spectable appearance,  told  me  that  Mr.  Hardy  (for 
such  it  seems  was  the  name  he  chose  to  go  by  m 
these  parts)  had  just  retired  to  rest,  as  he  felt  fatigued 
and  poorly,  and  she  was  just  going  to  make  him  some 
gruel.  She  spoke  in  a  tone  of  flurried  excitation, 
and  with  an  air  of  doubt,  which  were  easily  attribu- 
table to  her  astonishment  at  a  man  of  Mr.  Efiing- 
stone's  appearance  and  attendance,  with  such  supe- 
rior travelling  equipments,  dropping  into  such  a  house 
and  neighbourhood  as  hers.  I  repaired  to  his  bed- 
chamber immediately.  It  was  a  small  comfortably- 
furnished  room ;  the  fire  was  lit,  and  two  candles 
were  burning  on  the  drawers.  On  the  bed,  the  plain 
chintz  curtains  of  which  were  only  half-drawn,  lay 
St.  John  Henry  Efhngstone.  I  must  pause  a  mo- 
ment to  describe  his  appearance,  as  it  struck  me  at 
first  looking  at  him.  It  may  be  thought  rather  far- 
fetched, perhaps,  but  I  could  not  help  comparing  him 
in  my  own  mind  to  a  gem  set  in  the  midst  of  faded 
tarnished  embroidery  :  the  coarse  texture  of  the  bed 
furniture — the  ordinary  style  of  the  room — its  con- 
strained dimensions,  constrasted  strikingly  with  the 
indications  of  elegance  and  fashion  afforded  by  the 
scattered  clothes,  toilet,  and  travelling  paraphernalia, 
&c.  of  the  person  and  manners  of  its  present  occu- 
pant, who  lay  on  a  bed  all  tossed  and  tumbled,  with 
only  a  few  minutes'  restlessness.  A  dazzling  dia- 
mond ring  sparkled  on  the  little  finger  of  his  left 
hand,  and  was  the  only  ornament  he  ever  Avore. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  195 

There  was  something-  also  in  the  snovviness,  simpli- 
city, and  fineness  of  his  linen  which  alone  might 
have  evidenced  the  superior  consideration  of  its 
wearer,  even  were  that  not  sufficiently  visible  in  the 
noble,  commanding  outline  of  the  features,  faded 
though  they  were,  and  shrinking  beneath  the  inroads 
of  illness  and  dissipation.  His  forehead  was  white 
and  ample ;  his  eye  had  lost  none  of  its  fire,  though 
it  gleamed  with  restless  energy ;  in  a  word,  there  was 
that  ease  and  loftiness  in  his  bearing,  that  indescriba- 
ble maniere  d'etre,  which  are  inseparable  from  high 
birth  and  breeding.  So  much  for  the  appearance  of 
things  on  my  entrance. 

"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Efl[ingstone — ^how  are  you, 
my  dear  sir  V  said  I,  sitting  down  by  the  bedside. 

"  Doctor,  the  pains  of  hell  have  got  hold  upon  me. 
I  am  undone,"  he  replied,  gloomily,  in  a  broken  voice, 
and  extended  to  me  a  hand  cold  as  marble. 

"  Is  it  as  you  suspected  in  your  last  letter  to  me 
from  Rouen,  Mr.  Effingstone  V  I  inquired,  after  a 
pause.  He  shook  his  head,  and  covered  his  face 
with  both  his  hands,  but  made  me  no  answer.  Think- 
ing he  was  in  tears,  I  said,  in  a  soothing  tone, 
"  Come,  come,  my  dear  sir,  don't  be  carried  away ; 
don't" 

"  Faugh  !  Do  you  take  me  for  a  puling  child  or  a 
woman,  doctor?  Don't  suspect  me  again  of  such 
contemptible  pusillanimity,  low  as  I  am  fallen,"  he 
replied,  with  startling  sternness,  removing  his  hands 
from  his  face. 

"  1  hope,  after  all,  that  matters  are  not  so  despe- 
rate as  your  fears  would  persuade  you,"  said  I,  feel- 
ing his  pulse. 

"  Doctor,  don't  delude  me ;  all  is  over,  I  know  it 
is.  A  horrible  death  is  before  me ;  but  I  shall  meet 
it  like  a  man.  I  have  made  my  bed  and  must  lie 
upon  it." 

"  Come,  come,  Mr.  Effingstone,  don't  be  so  gloomy, 
so  hopeless ;  the  exhausted  powers  of  nature  may 


196  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 


yet  be  revived,"  said  I,  after  having  asked  him  many- 
questions. 

"'"  Doctor ,ril  soon  end  that  strain  of  yours. 

'Tis  silly — pardon  me — but  it  is.  Reach  me  one  of 
these  candles,  please."  I  did  so.  "  Now  I'll  show 
you  how  to  translate  a  passage  of  Persius. 

'Tentemus  fauces: — tenero  latet  ulcus  in  ore 
Putre,  quod  baud  deceat  plebeia  raderebetal' 

Eh,  you  recollect  it  ?  Well,  look !  What  say  you 
to  this  ;  isn't  it  frightful  ?"  he  asked,  bitterly  raising 
the  candle,  that  I  might  look  into  his  mouth.  It  was, 
alas,  as  he  said !  In  fact,  his  whole  constitution  had 
been  long  tainted,  and  exhibited  symptoms  of  soon 
breaking  up  altogether !  I  feared,  from  the  period  of 
my  attendance  on  him  during  the  illness  which  drove 
him  last  to  the  continent,  that  it  was  beyond  human 
power  to  dislodge  the  harpy  that  had  fixed  its  cruel 
fangs  deeply,  inextricably  in  his  vitals.  Could  it  be 
wondered  at,  even  by  himself]  Neglect,  in  the  first 
instance,  added  to  a  persevering  course  of  profligacy, 
had  doomed  him  long,  long  before  to  premature  and 
horrible  decay !  And  though  it  can  scarcely  be  cred- 
ited, it  is  nevertheless  the  fact — even  on  the  conti- 
nent, in  the  character  of  a  shattered  invalid,  the  in- 
fatuated man  resumed  those  dissolute  courses  which 
in  England  had  already  hurried  him  almost  to  death's 
door! 

"My  good  God,  Mr.  Efl!ingstone !"  I  inquired, 
almost  paralyzed  with  amazement  at  hearing  him 
describe  recent  scenes  in  which  he  had  mingled,  which 
would  have  made  even  satyrs  skulk  ashamed  into 
the  woods  of  old,  "  how  could  you  have  been  so  in- 
sane, so  stark  staring  mad  ?" 

"  By  instinct,  doctor,  by  instinct !  The  nature  of 
the  beast !"  he  replied,  through  his  closed  teeth,  and 
with  an  unconscious  clenching  of  his  hands.  Many 
inquiries  into  his  past  and  present  symptoms  fore- 
warned me  that  his  case  would  probably  be  marked 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  197 

by  more  appalling  features  than  any  that  had  ever 
come  under  my  care ;  and  that  there  was  not  a  ray  of 
hope  that  he  would  survive  the  long,  lingering,  and 
maddening  agonies  which  were  "  measured  out  to 
him  from  the  poisoned  chalice"  which  he  had  "com- 
mended to  his  own  lips." 

He  shed  no  teal's,  and  repeatedly  strove,  but  in  vain, 
to  repress  sighs  with  which  his  breast  heaved,  nearly 
to  bursting,  while  I  pointed  out,  in  obedience  to  his 
determination  to  know  the  worst,  some  portions  of 
the  dreary  prospect  before  him. 

"  Horrible !  hideous  I"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  broken 
tone,  his  flesh  creeping  from  head  to  foot.  "  Hcyw 
shall  I  endure  it!  Oh,  Epictetus,  how?"  He  re- 
lapsed into  silence,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceiling 
and  his  hands  joined  over  his  breast,  and  pointing  up- 
wards in  a  posture  w^hich  I  considered  supplicatory. 
I  rejoiced  to  see  it,  and  ventured  to  say,  after  much 
hesitation,  that  I  was  delighted  to  see  him  at  last 
looking  to  the  right  quarter  for  support  and  conso- 
lation. 

"  Bah !"  he  exclaimed,  impetuously,  removing  his 
hands,  and  eying  me  with  sternness  almost  approach- 
ing fury,  "  -why  will  you  persist  in  pestering  your  pa- 
tients Avith  twaddle  of  that  sort  ? — eandem  semper  ca- 
nens  cantilenam,  ad  nauseam  usque — as  though  you 
carried  a  psalter  in  your  pocket  ]  When  I  want  to 
listen  to  any  thing  of  that  kind,  why,  I'll  pay  a  par- 
son !  Haven't  I  a  tide  enough  of  horror  to  bear  up 
against  already,  without  your  bringing  a  sea  of  super- 
stition upon  me  ?  No  more  of  it — no  more — 'tis 
foul."  I  felt  roused  myself,  at  last,  to  something 
like  correspondent  emotions  ;  for  there  was  an  inso- 
lence of  assumption  in  his  tone  wliich  I  could  not 
brook. 

"  Mr.  Eflingstone,"  said  T,  calmly,  "  this  silly  swag- 
ger will  not  do.     'Tis  umvorthy  of  you — unscholarly 
— ungentlemanly ;  you  force  me  to  say  so.     I  beg  I 
may  hear  no  more  of  it,  or  you  and  I  must  part.    I 
R2 


198  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

have  never  been  accustomed  to  such  treatment,  and 
I  cannot  now  learn  how  to  endure  it  from  you.  From 
what  quarter  can  you  expect  support  or  fortitude," 
said  I,  in  a  milder  tone,  seeing  him  startled  and  sur- 
prised at  the  former  part,  "  except  the  despised  con- 
solations of  religion  1" 

"  Doctor,  you  are  too  superior  to  petty  feelings  not 
to  overlook  a  little  occasional  petulance  in  such  a 
wretched  fellow  as  I  am !  You  ask  me  whither  I 
look  for  support  ?  I  reply,  to  the  energies  of  my  own 
mind — the  tried,  disciplined  energies  of  my  own  mind, 
doctor — a  mind  that  never  knew  M'hat  fear  was — that 
no  disastrous  combinations  of  misfortune  could  ever 
yet  shake  from  its  fortitude  !  What  but  this  is  it  that 
enables  me  to  shut  my  ears  to  the  whisperings  of 
some  pitying  friend,  who,  knowing  what  hideous  tor- 
tures await  me,  has  stepped  out  of  hell  to  come  and 
advise  me  to  suicide — eh  ?"  he  inquired,  his  eye  glar- 
ing on  me  with  a  very  unusual  expression.  "  How- 
ever, as  religion,  that  is,  your  Christian  religion,  is  a 
subject  on  "which  you  and  I  can  never  agi'ee — an  old 
bone  of  contention  between  us — why,  the  less  said 
about  it  the  better.  It's  useless  to  irritate  a  man 
whose  mind  is  made  up.  I  shall  never  be  a  believer 
— may  I  die  first !"  he  concluded,  with  angry  vehe- 
mence. 

The  remainder  of  the  interview  I  spent  in  endea^ 
vouring  to  persuade  him  to  relinquish  his  present  un- 
suitable lodgings,  and  return  to  the  sphere  of  his 
friends  and  relations — ^but  in  vain.  He  was  fixedly 
determined  to  continue  in  that  obscure  hole,  he  said, 
till  there  \vas  about  a  week  or  so  between  him  and 
death  and  then  he  would  return  "  and  die  in  the  bosom 
of  his  family,  as  the  phrase  was."  Alas !  however,  I 
knew  but  too  well,  that  in  the  event  of  his  adhering 
to  that  resolution,  he  was  fated  to  expire  in  the  bed 
where  he  then  lay  ;  for  I  foresaw  but  too  truly  that 
the  termination  of  his  illness  would  be  attended  with 
circumstances    rendering  removal  utterly  impos- 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  199 

sible.    He  made  me  pledge  my  word  that  I  would 
not,  ^vithout  his  express  request   or  sanction,  ap- 
prize  any  member  of   his  family  or  any   of  his 
friends  that  he  had  returned  to  England.     It  was  in 
vain  that  I  expostulated,  that  I  represented  the  re- 
sponsibility imposed  upon  me;  and  reminded  him 
that  in  the  event  of  any  thing  serious  and  sudden  be- 
falling him,  the  censure  of  all  his  relatives  would  be 
levelled  at  me.     He  was  immoveable.     "  Doctor,  you 
know  well  I  dare  not  see  them,  as  well  on  my  own 
account  as  theirs,"  said  he,  bitterly.     He  begged 
me  to  prescribe  him  a  powerful  anodyne  draught ; 
for  that  he  could  get  no  rest  at  nights ;  that  an  intense 
racking  pain  was  gnawing  all  his  bones  from  morn- 
ing to  evening,  and  from  evening  to  morning :  and 
what  with  this  and  other  dreadful  concomitants,  he 
"  was,"  he  said, "  suffering  the  tortures  of  the  damned, 
and  perhaps  worse."     I  complied  with  his  request, 
and  ordered  him  also  many  other  medicines  and  ap- 
plications, and  promised  to  see  him  soon  in  the  morn- 
ing.    I  was  accordingly  with  him  about  twelve  the 
next  day.     He  was  sitting  up  and  in  his  dressing- 
gown  before  the  fire,  in  great  pain  and  suffering  under 
the  deepest  dejection.     He  complained  heavily  of  the 
intense  and  unremitting  agony  he  had  endured  all 
night  long,  and  thought  tha^  from  some  cause  or  other 
the  laudanum  draught  I  ordered  had  tended  to  make 
him  only  more  acutely  sensible  of  the  pain.     "  It  is  a 
peculiar  and  horrible  sensation,  and  I  camiot  give  you 
an  adequate  idea  of  it,"  he  said  :  "  it  is  as  though  the 
marrow  in  my  bones  were  transformed  into  some- 
thing animated — into  blind  worms,  writhing,  biting, 
and  stinging  incessantly" — and  he   shuddered,  as 
did  I  also,  at  the  revolting  comparison.     He  put  me 
upon  a  minute  exposition  of  the  rationale  of  his  dis- 
order, and  if  ever  I  was  at  a  loss  for  adequate  ex- 
pressions or  illustrations,  he  supphed  them  with  a 
readiness,  an  exquisite  appositeness  which,  added  to 
his  astonishing  acuteness  in  comprehending  the  most 


200  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

Strictly  technical  details,  filled  me  with  admiration 
for  his  great  powers  of  mind,  and  poignant  regret  at 
their  miserable  desecration. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  you  can  give  me  any  efficient 
relief,  doctor,"  said  he,  "  and  I  am  therefore  bent  on 
trying  a  scheme  of  my  own." 

"  And  what,  pray,  may  that  be  ?"  I  inquired,  curi- 
ously. 

"  I'll  tell  you  my  preparations.  I've  ordered  nearly 
a  hmidred  weight  of  the  strongest  tobacco  that's  to 
be  bought,  and  thousands  of  pipes  ;  and  with  these 
I  intend  to  smoke  myself  into  stupidity,  or  rather  in- 
sensibility, if  possible,  till  I  can't  undertake  to  say 
whether  I  live  or  not ;  and  my  good  fellow  George  is 
to  be  reading  me  Don  Quixote  the  while."  Oh,  with 
what  a  sorrowful  air  of  forced  gayety  was  all  this 
uttered ! 

One  sudden  burst  of  bitterness  I  well  recollect. 
I  was  saying,  while  putting  on  my  gloves  to  go,  that  I 
hoped  to  see  him  in  better  spirits  the  next  time  I  called. 

"  Better  spirits  1    Ha !  ha !    How  the can  I 

be  in  better  spirits — an  exile  from  society — in  such 
a  contemptible  hovel  as  this — among  a  set  of  base- 
'  born  brutal  savages  1 — faugh !  faugh !  It  does  need 
something  here — ^here,"  pressing  liis  hand  to  his  fore- 
head, "  to  bear  it — ay,  it  does !"  I  thought  his  tones 
were  tremulous,  and  that  for  the  first  time  I  had  ever 
known  them  so ;  and  I  could  not  help  thinking  the 
tears  came  into  his  eyes ;  for  he  started  suddenly 
from  me,  and  affected  to  be  gazing  at  some  passing 
objects  in  the  street.  I  saw  he  was  beginning  to  sink 
under  a  consciousness  of  the  bitter  degradation  into 
which  he  had  sunk — the  wretched  prospect  of  his 
"  sun's  going  down  in  darkness !"  I  saw  that  the 
strength  of  mind  to  which  he  clung  so  pertinaciously 
for  support  was  fast  disappearing,  like  snow  beneath 
the  sunbeam.        *        *         * 

[Then  follow  the  details  of  his  disease,  which  are 
go  shocking  as  to  be  unfit  for  any  but  professional 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  201 

eyes.  They  represent  all  the  energies  of  his  nature 
as  shaken  beyond  the  possibility  of  restoration — his 
constitution  wholly  undermined :  that  the  remedies 
resorted  to  had  been  almost  more  dreadful  than 
the  disease — and  yet  exhibited  in  vain !  In  the  next 
twenty  pages  of  the  Diary,  the  shades  of  horror  are 
represented  as  gradually  closing  and  darkening  around 
this  wretched  victim  of  debauchery  ;  and  the  narra- 
tive is  carried  forward  through  three  months.  A  few 
extracts  only  from  this  portion  are  fitting  for  the 
reader.] 

Friday,  January  5. — Mr.  EfRngstone  continues  in 
the  same  deplorable  state  described  in  my  former 
entry.  I  found  him  engaged,  as  usual,  deep  in  Pe- 
tronius  Arbiter!  He  still  makes  the  same  wretched 
show  of  reliance  on  the  strength  and  firmness  of  his 
mental  powers ;  but  his  worn  and  haggard  features 
— the  burning  brilliance  of  his  often  half-phrensied 
eyes — the  broken,  hollow  tones  of  his  voice — his  sud- 
den starts  of  apprehension — belie  every  word  he  utters. 
He  describes  his  bodily  suff"ering3  as  frightful.  In- 
deed, Mrs. has  often  told  me^  that  his  groans  both 

disturb  and  alarm  the  neighbours,  even  as  far  as  over 
the  way!  The  very  watchman  has  several  times 
been  so  much  startled  in  passing  at  hearing  his  groans, 
that  he  has  knocked  at  the  door  to  inquire  about 

them.     Neither  Sir nor  I  can  think  of  any  thing 

that  seems  likely  to  assuage  his  agonies.  Even 
laudanum  has  failed  us  altogether,  though  it  has  been 
given  in  unprecedented  quantities.  I  think  I  can  say 
with  truth  and  sincerity,  that  scarce  the  wealth  of 
the  Indies  should  tempt  me  to  undertake  the  manage- 
ment of  another  such  case.  I  am  losing  my  appe- 
tite— loathe  animal  food — am  haunted  day  and  night 
by  the  piteous  spectacle  which  I  have  to  encounter 
daily  in  Mr.  Elfingstone.  Oh,  that  Heaven  would 
terminate  his  tortures — surely  he  has  suff"ered  enough ! 
I  am  sure  he  would  hail  the  prospect  of  death  with 
ecstasy ! 


202  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

Wednesday,  10. — Poor,  infatuated,  obstinate  Effing- 
stone  will  not  yet  allow  me  to  communicate  with  any 
of  his  family  or  friends,  though  he  knows  they  are 
almost  distracted  at  not  hearing  from  him,  fancying 

him  yet  abroad.     Colonel asked  me  the  other 

day,  earnestly,  when  I  last  heard  from  Mr.  Effing- 
stone  ?  I  wonder  my  conscious  looks  did  not  betray 
me.  I  almost  wish  they  had.  Good  God !  in  what 
a  painful  predicament  I  am  placed !  What  am  I  to 
do  I  Shall  I  tell  them  all  about  him,  and  disregard 
consequences  1  Oh,  no,  no ;  how  can  that  be,  when 
my  word  and  honour  are  solemnly  pledged  to  the 
contrary  ] 

Saturday,  20. — Poor  Effingstone  has  experienced 
a  signal  instance  of  the  ingratitude  and  heartlessness 
of  mere  men  of  the  world.    He  sent  his  man,  some 

time  ago,  with  a  confidential  note  to  Captain , 

formerly  one  of  his  most  intimate  acquaintances, 
stating  briefly  the  shocking  circumstances  in  which 
he  was  placed,  and  begging  him  to  call  and  see  him. 
The  captain  sent  back  a  vivd  voce  (!)  message,  that 
he  should  feel  happy  in  calling  on  Mr.  Effingstone  in  a 
few  days'  time,  and  would  then,  but  that  he  was  busy 
making  up  a  match  at  billiards  and  balancing  his  bet- 
ting book,  &c.  &c.  &c.  This  day  the  fellow  rode  up 
to  the  door,  and  left  a  card  for  Mr.  Effingstone,  without 
asking  to  see  him!  Heartless,  contemptible  thing! 
I  drove  up  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  this  gen- 
tleman had  left.  Poor  Effingstone  could  not  repress 
tears  while  informing  me  of  the  above.     "  Would 

you   believe  it,  doctor,"  said  he,  "that  Captain 

was  one  of  my  most  intimate  companions,  that  he 
has  won  many  hundred  pounds  of  my  money,  and 
that  I  have  stood  his  second  in  a  duel  ]"  "  Oh,  yes, 
I  could  believe  it  all,  and  much  more !"  "  My  poor 
man  George,"  he  resumed,  "  is  worth  a  million  of 
such  puppies !  Don't  you  think  the  good,  faithful  fel- 
low looks  ill  1  He  is  at  my  bedside  twenty  times 
a-night !    Do  try  and  do  something  for  him !    I've 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  203 

left  him  a  trifling  annuity  out  of  the  wreck  of  my 
fortune,  poor  fellow  T'  and  the  rebellious  tears  again 
glistened  in  his  eyes.     His  tortures  are  unmitigated. 

Friday,  26. — Surely,  surely  I  have  never  seen  and 
seldom  heard  or  read  of  such  sufferings  as  the 
wretched  Effingstone's.  He  strives  to  endure  them 
with  the  fortitude  and  patience  of  a  martyr,  or  rather 
is  struggling  to  exhibit  a  spirit  of  sullen,  stoical  sub- 
mission to  his  fate,  such  as  is  inculcated  in  Arrian's 
Discourses  of  Epictetus,  which  he  reads  almost  all 
day.  His  anguish  is  so  excruciating  and  uninter- 
rupted, that  I  am  astonished  how  he  retains  the  use 
of  his  reason.  All  power  of  locomotion  has  disap- 
peared long  ago.  The  only  parts  of  his  body  he  can 
move  now  are  his  fingers,  toes,  and  head — which 
latter  he  sometimes  shakes  about  in  a  sudden 
ecstasy  of  pain,  with  such  frightful  violence  as 
would,  one  should  think,  almost  suffice  to  sever  it 
from  his  shoulders  !  All  sensation  in  the  lower  ex- 
tremities has  ceased  for  a  fortnight !  He  describes 
the  agonies  about  his  stomach  and  bowels  to  be  as 
though  wolves  were  ravenously  gnawing  and  man- 
gling all  within. 

Oh,  my  God,  if  "  men  about  town,"  in  London 
or  elsewhere,  could  but  see  the  hideous  spectacle  Mr. 
EfRngstone  presents,  surely  it  would  palsy  them  in 
the  pursuit  of  ruin,  and  scare  them  into  the  paths  of 
virtue ! 

Mrs. ,  his  landlady,  is  so  ill  with  attendance 

on  him  that  she  has  gone  to  the  house  of  a  relative 
for  a  few  weeks  in  a  distant  part  of  the  town,  having 
first  engaged  one  of  the  poor  neighbours  to  supply 
her  place  as  Mr.  Effingstone's  nurse.  The  people  op- 
posite and  on  each  side  of  the  house  are  complaining 
again  loudly  of  the  strange  nocturnal  noises  heard 
in  Mr.  Effingstone's  room.     They  are  his  groanings  ! 

Tuesday,  31. — Again  I  have  visited  that  scene  of 
loathsomeness  and  horror,  Mr.  Effingstone's  cham- 
ber.    The  nurse  and  George  told  me  he  had  been 


204  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

raving  deliriously  all  night  long.  I  found  him  in- 
credibly altered  in  countenance,  so  much  so,  that  I 
should  hardly  have  recognised  his  features.  He  was 
mumbling,  with  his  eyes  closed,  when  I  entered  the 
room. 

"  Doctor,"  he  exclaimed,  in'a  tone  of  doubt  and  fear, 
such  as  I  had  never  known  from  him  before,  "  you 
have  not  heard  me  abuse  the  Bible  lately,  have  you  ?" 

"  Not  very  lately,  Mr.  Effingstone,"  I  replied,  point- 
edly. 

"  Good,"  said  he,  with  his  usual  decision  and  energy 
of  manner.  "  There  are  awful  things  in  that  book, 
aren't  there,  doctor?"  , 

"  Many  very  awful  things  there  are  indeed." 

"  I  thought  so — I  thought  so.  Pray" — his  man- 
ner grew  suddenly  perturbed,  and  he  paused  for  a 
moment,  as  if  to  recollect  himself;  "  Pray — pray" — 
again  he  paused,  but  could  not  succeed  in  disguising 
his  trepidation — "  do  you  happen  to  recollect  whether 
there  are  such  words  in  the  Bible  as — as — 'many 

STRIPES  V  " 

"  Yes,  there  are ;  and  they  form  part  of  a  very 
fearful  passage,"  said  I,  quoting  the  verse  as  nearly 
as  I  could.  He  listened  silently.  His  features 
swelled  with  suppressed  emotion.  There  was  horror 
in  his  eye. 

"  Doctor,  what  a — a— remark — able— nay,  hideous 
dream  I  had  last  night !  I  thought  a  fiend  "came  and 
took  me  to  a  gloomy  belfry,  or  some  other  such  place, 
and  muttered  '  many  stripes — many  stripes,'  in  my 
ear ;  and  the  huge  bell  almost  tolled  me  into  madness, 
for  all  the  damned  danced  round  me  to  the  sound  of 
it !  ha,  ha  !"  He  added,  M'ith  a  faint  laugh,  after  a 
pause,  "  There.'s  something  cu — cur — cursedly  odd  in 
the  coincidence,  isn't  there?  How  it  would  have 
frightened  some  wiseacres !"  he  continued,  a  forced 
smile  flitting  over  his  haggard  features,  as  if  in 
mocker)^  "  But  it  is  easily  to  be  accounted  for — the 
intimate  connexion — sympathy — between  mind  and 


DIARY   OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  205 

matter,  reciprocally  affecting  each  other — affecting 
each — ha,  ha,  ha !  Doctor,  it's  no  use  keeping  up 
this  damned  farce  any  longer ;   human  nature  won't 

bear  it !     D n n !  I'm  going  down  to  hell  ! 

I  am  !"  said  he,  almost  yelhng  out  the  words.  I  had 
never  before  witnessed  such  a  fearful  manifestation 
of  his  feelings.  I  almost  started  from  the  chair  on 
which  I  was  sitting. 

"  Why,"  he  continued,  in  nearly  the  same  tone  and 
manner,  as  if  he  had  lost  all  self-control,  "  what  is  it 
that  has  maddened  me  all  my  life,  and  left  me  sober 
only  at  this  ghastly  hour — too  late  ]"  My  agitation 
would  not  permit  me  to  do  more  than  whisper  a  few 
unconnected  words  of  encouragement,  almost  inaudi- 
ble to  myself.  In  about  ten  minutes'  time,  neither 
of  us  having  broken  the  silence  of  the  interv  al,  he  said, 
in  a  calmer  tone,  "  Doctor,  be  good  enough  to  wipe 
my  forehead,  will  you  ?"  I  did  so.  "  You  know  better, 
doctor,  of  course,  than  to  attach  any  importance  to 
the  nonsensical  rantings  extorted  by  death-bed  ago- 
nies, eh  1  Don't  dying  people,  at  least  those  who 
die  in  great  pain,  almost  always  express  themselves 
so  ?  How  apt  superstition  is  to  rear  its  dismal  flag 
over  the  prostrate  energies  of  one's  soul,  when  the 
body  is  racked  by  tortures  like  mine  ]  Oh,  oh,  oh, 
that  maddening  sensation  about  the  centre  of  my 
stomach  !  Doctor,  go  home  and  forget  all  the  stuflf 
you've  heard  me  utter  to-day—'  Richard's  himself 
again !' " 

Thursday,  2d  February. — On  aniving  this  morning 

at row,  I  was  shown  into  the  back  parlour,  where 

sat  the  nurse,  veiy  sick  and  faint.  She  begged  me 
to  procure  a  substitute,  for  that  she  was  nearly  killed 
herself,  and  nothing  should  tempt  her  to  continue  in 
her  present  situation.  Poor  thing !  I  did  not  won- 
der at  it !  I  told  her  I  would  send  a  nurse  from  one 
of  the  hospitals  that  evening,  and  then  inquired  what 
sort  of  a  night  Mr.  Effingstone  had  passed.  "  Ter- 
rible," she  said;  "  groaning,  shaking,  and  roaring  all 
S 


206  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

night  long, '  many  stripes,' '  many  stripes,'  *  oh,  God 
of  mercy !'  and  inquiring  perpetually  for  you."  I 
repaired  to  the  fatal  chamber  immediately,  though 
latterly  my  spirits  began  to  fail  me  whenever  I  ap- 
proached the  door.  I  was  going  to  take  my  usual 
seat  in  the  arm-chair  bj^  the  bedside. 

"  Don't  sit  there — don't  sit  there,"  groaned  or  rather 
gasped  Mr.  Effingstone,  "  for  a  hideous  being  sat  in 
that  chair  all  night  long," — every  muscle  in  his  face 
crept  and  shrunk  with  horror, — "  muttering  '  many 
stripes  P  Doctor,  order  that  blighted  chair  to  be  taken 
away,  broken  up  and  burnt,  every  splinter  of  it !  Let 
no  human  being  ever  sit  in  it  again  !  And  give  in- 
structions to  the  people  about  me  never  to  desert  me 
for  a  moment — or — or — carry  me  off! — they  will !  *  * 
My  phrensied  fancy  conjures  up  the  ghastliest  objects 
that  can  scare  man  into  madness !"    He  paused. 

"  Great  God,  doctor !  suppose,  after  all,  what  the 
Bible  says  should  prove  true  !"  he  literally  gnashed 
his  teeth,  and  looked  the  truer  image  of  despair  than 
I  have  ever  seen  represented  in  pictures,  on  the  stage, 
or  in  real  life.  "  Why,  Mr.  Effingstone,  if  it  shouldf 
it  need  not  be  to  your  sorrow,  unless  you  choose  to 
make  it  so,"  said  I,  in  a  soothing  tone. 

"  Needn't  it,  needn't  it  ]"  with  an  abstracted  air, 
"Needn't  if?  Oh,  good! — hope. — There,  there  it 
sat,  all  night  long,  there !  I've  no  recollection  of 
any  distinct  personality,  and  yet  I  thought  it  some- 
times looked  like — of  course,"  he  added,  after  a  pause 
and  a  sigh  of  exhaustion,  "  of  course  these  phantoms, 
or  similar  ones,  must  often  have  been  described  to 
you  by  dying  people — eh  ?" 

Friclay,  3c?.—  *  *  *  He  was  in  a  strangely 
altered  mood  to-day ;  for  though  his  condition  might 
be  aptly  described  by  the  words  "  dead  alive,"  his 
calm  demeanour,  his  tranquillized  features,  and  the 
mild  expression  of  his  eye,  assured  me  he  believed 
what  he  said  when  he  told  me  that  his  disorder 
liad  "  taken  a  turn," — that  the  "  crisis  was  past ;"  and 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  207 

he  should  recover!  Alas,  was  it  ever  known  that 
dead  mortified  flesh  ever  resumed  its  life  and  func- 
tions !  To  have  saved  himself  from  the  spring  of  a 
hungry  tiger,  he  could  not  have  moved  a  foot  or  a 
finger,  and  that  for  the  last  week !  Poor,  poor  Mr. 
Eflingstone  began  to  thank  me  for  my  attentions  to 
him  during  his  illness  ;  said  he  "  owed  his  life  to  my 
consummate  skill;"  he  would  "trumpet  my  fame  to 
the  Andes,  if  I  succeeded  in  bringing  him  through." 

"  It  has  been  a  very  horrible  affair,  doctor,  hasn't 
it  ]"  said  he. 

"  Very,  very,  Mr.  Eflingstone ;  and  it  is  my  duty 
to  tell  you  there  is  yet  much  horror  before  you !" 

"  Ah !  well,  well !  I  see  you  don't  want  me  to  be 
too  sanguine — too  impatient;  it's  kindly  meant — 
very  !  Doctor,  when  I  leave  here,  I  leave  it  an  al- 
tered man !     Come,  does  not  that  gratify  you,  eh  ?" 

I  could  not  help  a  sigh.  He  xi'oidd  be  an  altered 
man,  and  that  very  shortly !  He  mistook  the  feelings 
which  prompted  the  sigh.  "  Mind — not  that  I'm 
going  to  commence  saint — far  from  it ;  but — but — I 
don't  despair  of  being  a  Christian.  I  don't,  upon  my 
honour.  The  New  Testament  is  a  subhme — a — I 
believe — a  true  revelation  of  the  Almighty.  My 
heart  is  quite  humbled  ;  yet — mark  me — I  don't  mean 
exactly  to  say  I'm  a  believer;  not  by  any  means; 
but  I  can't  help  thinking  that  my  inquiries  might 
tend  to  make  me  so."  I  hinted  that  all  these  were 
indications  of  bettered  feelings.     1  could  say  no  more. 

"  I'm  bent  on  leading  a  different  hfe  to  what  I  have 
led  before,  at  all  events  !  Let  me  see — I'll  tell  you 
what  I've  been  chalking  out  during  the  night.     I 

shall  go  to  Lord  's  villa  in  ,  whither  I've 

often  been  invited,  and  shall  read  Lardner  and  Paley, 
and  get  them  up  thoroughly — I  will,  by !" 

"  Mr.  Eflingstone,  pardon  me" — 

"  Ah,  I  understand — 'twas  a  mere  slip  of  the  tongue 
-^what's  bred  in  the  bone,  you  know" — 


208  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

"  1  was  not  alluding  to  the  oath,  Mr.  Effingstone ; 
but — but  it  is  my  duty  to  warn  you" — 

"  Ah — that  I'm  not  going  the  right  way  to  work, 
eh?    Well,  at  all  events,  I'll  consult  a  clergyman. 

The  Bishop  of is  a  distant  connexion  of  our 

family,  you  know  ;  I'll  ask  his  advice  !  *  *  Oh, 
doctor,  look  at  that  rich,  that  blessed  light  of  the 
sun!  Oh,  draw  aside  the  window-curtain,  let  me 
feel  it  on  me  !  What  an  image  of  the  beneficence 
of  the  Deity  !  A  smile  flung  from  his  face  over  the 
universe  !"  I  drew  aside  the  curtain.  It  was  a  cold, 
clear  frosty  day,  and  the  sun  shone  into  the  room 
with  cheerful  lustre.  Oh,  how  awfully  distinct  were 
the  ravages  which  his  wasted  features  had  sustained ! 
His  soul  seemed  to  expand  beneath  the  genial  influ- 
ence of  the  sunbeams ;  and  he  again  expressed  his 
confident  expectations  of  recovery. 

"  Mr.  Effingstone,  do  not  persist  in  cherishing  false 
hopes !  Once  for  all,"  said  I,  with  all  the  deliberate 
solemnity  I  could  throw  into  my  manner,  "  I  assure 
you,  in  the  presence  of  God,  that  unless  a  miracle 
takes  place,  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  you  to  recover, 
or  even  to  last  a  week  longer !"  I  thought  it  had 
killed  him.  His  features  whitened  visibly  as  I  con- 
cluded— his  eye  seemed  to  sink,  and  the  eyehds  fell. 
His  lips  presently  moved,  but  uttered  no  sound.  I 
thought  he  had  received  his  death-stroke ;  and  was 
immeasurably  shocked  at  its  having  been  from  my 
hands,  even  though  in  the  strict  performance  of  my 
duty.  Half  an  hour's  time,  however,  saw  him  re- 
stored to  nearly  the  same  state  in  which  he  had  been 
previously.  I  begged  him  to  allow  me  to  send  a 
clergyman  to  him,  as  the  best  means  of  soothing  and 
quieting  his  mind  ;  but  he  shook  his  head  despond- 
ingly.  I  pressed  my  point,  and  he  said,  deliberately, 
"  JVo."  He  muttered  some  such  words  as  "  The 
Deity  has  determined  on  my  destruction,  and  is  per- 
mitting his  devils  to  mock  me  with  hopes  of  this  sort. 
Let  me  go  then  to  my  own  place !"    In  this  awful  state 


dlaIy  of  a  late  physician.  209 

of  mind  I  was  compelled  to  leave  him.  I  sent  a  cler^- 
man  to  him  in  my  chaise — the  same  whom  I  had 

called  to  visit  Mr. [alluding  to  the  "  Scholar's 

Death-bed"];  but  he  refused  to  see  him,  saying,  that 
if  he  presumed  to  force  himself  into  the  room,  he 
would  spit  in  his  face,  though  he  could  not  rise  to 
kick  him  out !  The  temper  of  his  mind  had  changed 
into  something  perfectly  diabolical  since  my  inFer- 
view  with  him. 

Saturday,  4th. — Really,  my  own  health  is  suffer- 
ing— my  spirits  are  sinking  through  daily  horrors  1 
have  to  encounter  at  Mr.  Effingstone's  apartment. 
This  morning  I  sat  by  his  bedside  full  half  an  hour, 
listening  to  him  uttering  nothing  but  gi'oans  that  shook 
my  veiy  soul  within  me.  He  did  not  know  me  when 
I  spoke  to  him,  and  took  no  notice  of  me  whatever. 
At  length  his  groans  were  mingled  with  such  expres- 
sions as  these,  indicating  that  his  disturbed  fancy  had 
wandered  to  former  scenes. 

V  Oh  !  oh !  Pitch  it  into  him,  Bob  !  Ten  to  two 
on  Cribb !  Horrible !  These  dice  are  loaded,  Wil- 
mington, by ,  I  know  they  are  !     Keren's  the  main  ! 

Ha!    done,  by !     *     *     Hector,  yes — (he  was 

alluding  to  a  favourite  race-horse) — won't  'bate  a  pound 
of  his  price  !  Your  Grace  shall  have  him  for  six 
hundred — Fore-legs,  only  look  at  them!  There, 
there,  go  it !  away  !  away !  neck  and  neck — In,  in, 

by I  *     *    Hannah !  what  the 's  become  of 

her — drown'd  ?     No,  no,  no, — What  a  fiend  incarnate 

that  Bet is !     *     *     Oh  !  horror,  horror,  horror ! 

Oh,  that  some  one  would  knock  me  on  the  head,  and 
end  me  !    *     *    Fire,  fire  !     Stripes,  many  stripes — 

Stuff!     You  didn't  fire  fair.     By ,  you  fired  before 

your  time — (alluding,  I  suppose,  to  a  duel  in  which  he 
had  been  concerned) — d — n  your  cowardice  !" 

Such  was  the  substance  of  what  he  uttered.  It 
was  in  vain  that  I  tried  to  arrest  the  torrent  of  vile 
recollections.        *        *        * 

^  Boctor,  doctor,  I  shall  die  of  fright !"  he  exclaimed, 
S2 


210  PASSAGES    FROM  THE# 

an  hour  afterward ;  "  what  d'ye  think  happened  to 
me  last  night  1  I  was  lying  here  with  the  fire 
burnt  very  low,  and  the  candles  out.  George  was 
asleep,  poor  fellow,  and  the  woman  gone  out  to  get 
an  hour's  rest  also.  I  was  looking  about,  and  sud- 
denly saw  the  dim  outline  of  a  table,  set,  as  it  were, 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  There  were  four  chairs 
faintly  visible,  and  three  ghostly  figures  came  through 
that  door  and  sat  in  them  one  by  one,  leaving  one 
vacant.  They  began  a  sort  of  horrid  whispering, 
more  like  gasping — they  were  devils,  and  talked  about 
my  damnation !  The  fourth  chair  was  for  me,  they 
said,  and  all  three  turned  and  looked  me  in  the  face. 
Oh !  hideous — shapeless — damned !"  He  uttered  a 
shuddering  groan.        *        *         * 

[Here  follows  an  account  of  his  interview  with  two 
brothers  ;  the  only  members  of  the  family — whom  he 
had  at  last  permitted  to  be  informed  of  his  frightful 
condition — who  would  come  and  see  him.]  *  *  * 
He  did  little  else  than  rave  and  howl  in  a  blasphe- 
mous manner  all  the  while  they  were  present,  tie 
seemed  hardly  to  be  aware  of  their  being  his  brothers, 
and  to  forget  the  place  where  he  was.     He  cursed 

me,  then  Sir ,  his  man  George,  and  charged  us 

with  compassing  his  death,  concealing  his  case  from 
his  family,  and  execrated  us  for  not  allowing  him  to 
be  removed  to  the  west  end  of  the  town.  In  vain 
we  assured  him  that  his  removal  was  utterly  impos- 
sible— the  time  was  past ;  I  had  off"ered  it  once.  He 
giiashed  his  teeth  and  spit  at  us  all !  "  What !  die — 
die — DIE  in  this  damned  hole  ?     I  won't  die  here — I 

will   go  to  street.       Take  me   off!      Devils, 

then,  do  you  come  and  carry  me  there ! — Come — 
out,  out  upon  you  i  *  *  *  You  have  killed  me,  all 
of  you !  You're  twisting  me  ! — You've  put  a  hill  of 
iron  on  me  !  I'm  dead  '.—all  my  body  is  dead  ![***] 
George,  you  wretch!  why  are  you  ladling  fire  upon 
me  ?  Where  do  you  get  it  1  Out — out — out !  I'm 
flooded  with  fire  1 — Scorched — scorched  !    *   *    Now 


Dlidnr    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  211 

— now  for  a  dance  of  devils — Ha — I  see !  I  see  !— 

There's ,  and  ,  and  ,  among  them ! — 

What !  all  three  of  yoii  dead — and  damned  before  me  ? 

W !  \\*here  is  your  d — d  loaded  dice  ] — Filled  with 

fire,  eh  ■?  *  *  *  So  you  were  the  three  devils  I  saw  sit- 
ting at  the  table,  eh  ?  Well,  I  shall  be  last — but,  d — e, 
I'll  be  the  chief  of  you  ! — I'll  be  king  in  hell «  *  *  * 
— \Miat — what's  that  filthy  owl  sitting  at  the  bottom 
of  the  bed  for,  eh  1 — Kick  it  otf— strike  it ! — Away — 
out  on  thee,  thou  imp  of  hell ! — I  shall  make  thee  smg 
presently  ! — Let  in  the  snakes — let  them  in — I  love 
them !  I  hear  them  writhing  up  stairs  !"  He  began 
to  shake  his  head  violently  from  side  to  side,  his  eyes 
glaring  like  coals  of  fire,  and  his  teeth  gnashing.  I 
never  could  have  imagined  any  thing  half  so  fright- 
ful. What  with  the  highly  excited  state  of  my  feel- 
ings, and  the  homble  scents  of  death  which  were 
diffused  about  the  room,  and  to  which  not  the  strong- 
est salts  of  ammonia,  used  incessantly,  could  render 
me  insensible,  I  was  obliged  to  leave  abruptly.  I 
knew  the  last  act  of  the  black  tragedy  was  closing 
that  night !  I  left  word  with  the  nurse  that  so  soon 
as  Mr.  Effingstone  should  be  released  from  his  misery, 
she  should  get  into  a  hackney-coach  and  come  to  my 
house.     *        *        * 

I  lay  tossing  in  bted  all  night  long — my  mind  suf- 
fused with  the  horrors  of  the  scene  of  which  I  have 
endeavoured  to  give  some  faint  idea  above.  Were  I 
to  record  half  what  I  recollect  of  his  hideous  ravings 
it  would  scare  myself  to  read  it! — I  will  not! 
Let  them  and  their  memory  perish  !  I  fancied  my- 
self lying  side  by  side  with  the  thing  bearing  the 
name  of  Efiingstone — that  I  could  not  move  away  from 
him — that  his  head,  shaking  from  side  to  side  as  I  have 
mentioned  above,  was  battering  my  cheeks  and  fore- 
head; in  short,  I  was  almost  beside  myself!  I  was 
in  the  act  of  uttering  a  fervent  prayer  to  the  Deity, 
that  even  in  the  eleventh  hour — the  eleventh  hour— 
when  a  violent  ringing  of  the  night-bell  made  me 


212  PASSAGES    FROM    THE^ 

spring  out  ofbed.  It  was  as  I  suspected.  The  nurse 
had  come,  and  already  all  was  over.  My  heart 
seemed  to  grow  suddenly  cold  and  motionless.  I 
dressed  myself  and  went  down  into  the  drawing- 
room.  On  the  sofa  lay  the  woman  :  she  had  fainted. 
On  recovering  her  senses,  I  asked  her  if  all  was 
over;  she  nodded  with  an  affrighted  expression! 
A  little  wine  and  water  restored  her  self-possession. 
"When  did  it  occur?"  I  asked.  "Exactly  as  the 
clock  struck  three,"  she  replied.     "  George  and  I  and 

Mr. ,  the  apothecary,  whom  we  had  sent  for  out 

of  the  next  street,  were  sitting  and  standing  round 
the  bed.  Mr.  Hardy  lay  tossing  his  head  about  for 
nearly  an  hour,  saying  all  manner  of  horrible  things. 
A  few  minutes  before  three  he  gave  a  loud  howl  and 
shouted, '  Here,  you  wretches — why  do  you  put  the 
candles  out— here — here — I'm  dying  I' 

" '  God's  peace  be  with  5rou,  sir !  The  Lord  have 
mercy  on  you !' — we  groaned,  like  people  distracted. 

"'Ha— ha— ha!  D— nyou!  D— nyouall!  Dy- 
ing 1 — D^ — n  me  !  I  won't  die  !     I  won't  die !     No — 

no!     D — n  me — I  won't — won't! — won't '  and 

made  a  noise  as  if  he  was  choked.  We  looked— yes, 
he  was  gone !" 

He  was  interred  in  an  obscure  dissenting  burying- 
gromid  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood,  under  the 
name  of  Hardy,  for  his  family  refused  to  recognise 
him. 

So  lived  and  died  a  "man  about  town" — and  so,  alas! 
will  yet  live  and  die  many  another  man  about  town  ! 

Death  at  the  Toilet. 

"  'Tis  no  use  talking  to  me,  mother,  I  will  go  to 

Mrs.  P 's  party  to-night,  if  I  dife  for  it— that's  flat ! 

You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Lieutenant  N is 

to  be  there,  and  he's  going  to  leave  town  to-morrow 
'—so  up  I  go  to  dress." 

>*  Charlotte,  why  will  you  be  so  obstinate  ?    You 


DIAlftr   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  213 

kuow  how  poorly  you  have  been  all  the  week,  and 

Dr. says  late  hours  are  the  worst  things  in  the 

world  for  you." 
"  Pshaw,  mother !  nonsense,  nonsense." 
"  Be  persuaded  for  once,  now,  I  beg !  Oh  dear^ 
dear,  what  a  night  it  is  too — it  pours  with  rain,  and 
blows  a  perfect  hunicane  !  You'll  be  wet  and  catch 
cold,  rely  on  it.  Come  now,  won't  you  stop  and  keep 
me  company  to-night  ?  ^  That's  a  good  girl !" 

"  Some  other  night  will  do  as  well  for  that,  you 

know  ;  for  now  I'll  go  to  Mrs.  P 's,  if  it  rains  cats 

and  dogs.     So  up — up — up  I  go !"  singing  jauntily 

"  Oh  she  shall  dance  all  dress'd  in  white, 
So  iadyUke." 

Such  were  very  nearly  the  words,  and  such  the 
manner,  in  which  Miss  J expressed  her  deter- 
mination to  act  in  defiance  of  her  mother's  wishes 
and  entreaties.  She  was  the  only  child  of  her  wid- 
owed mother,  and  had  but  a  few  weeks  before  com- 
pleted her  twenty-sixth  year,  with  yet  no  other  pros- 
pect before  her  than  bleak  single-blessedness.  A 
weaker,  more  frivolous  and  conceited  creature  never 
breathed — the  torment  of  her  amiable  parent,  the 
nuisance  of  her  acquaintance.  Though  her  mother's 
circumstances  were  verv^  straitened,  sufficing  barely 
to  enable  them  to  maintain  a  footing  in  what  is  called 
the  middling  genteel  class  of  society,  this  young  wo- 
man contrived  by  some  means  or  other  to  gratify  her 
penchant  for  dress,  and  gadded  about  here,  there,  and 
every  where  the  most  showily  dressed  person  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Though  far  from  being  even  pretty- 
faced,  or  having  any  pretensions  to  a  good  figure,  for 
she  both  stooped  and  was  skinny,  she  yet  believed 
herself  handsome  ;  and  by  a  vulgar,  flippant  forward- 
ness of  demeanour,  especially  when  in  mixed  com- 
pany, extorted  such  attentions  as  persuaded  her  that 
others  thought  so. 

For  one  or  two  years  she  had  been  an  occasional 


214  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

patient  of  mine.  The  settled  pallor,  the  tallowiness 
of  her  complexion,  conjointly  with  other  symptoms, 
evidenced  the  existence  of  a  liver  complaint;  and 
the  last  visits  I  had  paid  her  were  in  consequence  of 
frequent  sensations  of  oppression  and  pain  in  the 
chest,  which  clearly  indicated  some  orgfanic  disease 
of  her  heart.  I  saw  enough  to  warrant  me  in  warn- 
ing her  mother  of  the  possibility  of  her  daughter's 
sudden  death  from  this  cause,  and  the  imminent  peril 
to  which  she  exposed  herself  by  dancing,  late  hours, 
&c.;  but  Mrs.  J 's  remonstrances,  gentle  and  affec- 
tionate as  they  always  were,  were  thrown  away  upon 
her  headstrong  daughter. 

It  was  striking  eight  by  the  church  clock  when 

Miss  J ,  humming  the  words  of  the  song  above 

mentioned,  lit  her  chamber-candle  by  her  mother's 
•and  withdrew  to  her  room  to  dress,  soundly  rating 
the  servant-girl  by  the  way  for  not  having  starched 
some  article  or  other  which  she  intended  to  have 
worn  that  evening.  As  her  toilet  was  usually  a  long 
and  laborious  business,  it  did  not  occasion  much  sur- 
prise to  her  mother,  who  was  sitting  by  the  ftre  in 
their  little  parlour,  reading  some  book  of  devotion, 
that  the  church  chimes  announced  the  first  quarter 
past  nine  o'clock  without  her  daughter's  making  her 
appearance.  The  noise  she  had  made  overhead  in 
walking  to  and  fro  to  her  drawers,  dressing-table,  &c. 
had  ceased  about  half  an  hour  ago,  and  her  mother 
supposed  she  was  then  engaged  at  her  glass,  adjusting 
her  hair  and  preparing  her  complexion. 

"  Well,  I  wonder  what  can  make  Charlotte  so  very 
careful  about  her  dress  to-night !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 

J ,  removing  her  eyes  from  the  book  and  gazing 

thoughtfully  at  the  fire ;  "  Oh !  it  must  be  because 

young  Lieutenant  N is  to  be  there.    Well,  I  was 

young  myself  once,  and  it's  very  excusable  in  Char- 
lotte— heigho !"  She  heard  the  wind  howling  so  dis- 
jnally  without  that  she  drew  together  the  coals  of  her 
brisk  fire,  and  was  laying  down  the  poker  when  the 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  215 

clock  of church  struck  the  second  quartear  after 

nine. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  can  Charlotte  be  doing 
all  this  while  ?"  she  again  inquired.  She  listened — 
*'  I  have  not  heard  her  moving'  for  the  last  three  quar- 
ters of  an  hour!  I'll  call  the  maid  and ^ask."  She 
rung  the  bell  and  the  servant  appeared. 

"  Betty,  Miss  J is  not  gone  yet,  is  she  1" 

"  La,  no,  ma'am,"  replied  the  girl,  "  I  took  up  the 
curling-irons  only  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  as 
she  had  put  one  of  her  curls  out ;  and  she  said  she 
should  soon  be  ready.  She's  burst  her  new  muslin 
dress  behind,  and  that  has  put  her  into  a  way,  ma'am." 

"  Go  up  to  her  room  then,  Betty,  and  see  if  she  wants 
any  thing;  and  tell  her  it's  half  past  nine  o'clock,"  said 

Mrs.  J .     The  servant  accordingly  went  up  stairs 

and  knocked  at  the  bedroom-door  once,  twice,  thrice, 
but  received  no  answer.  There  was  a  dead  silence, 
except  when  the  wind  shook  the  window.   Could  Miss 

J have  fallen    asleep  1     Oh,   impossible  !     She 

knocked  again,  but  unsuccessfully  as  before.  She 
became  a  little  flustered,  and  after  a  moment's  pause 

opened  the  door  and  entered.     There  was  ^liss  J 

sitting  at  the  glass.  "  Why,  la,  ma'am,"  commenced 
Betty  in  a  petulant  tone,  walking  up  to  her,  "  here 
have  I  been  knocking  for  these  five  mimites,  and"— 
Betty  staggered  horror-struck  to  the  bed,  and  utter- 
ing a  loud  shriek,  alarmed  Mrs.  J ,  who  instantly 

tottered  up  stairs,  almost  palsied  with  fright.  Miss 
J was  dead  ! 

I  was  there  within  a  few  minutes,  for  my  house 
was  not  more  than  two  streets  distant.  It  was  a 
stormy  night  in  March :  and  the  desolate  aspect  of 
things  without — deserted  streets — the  dreary  howl- 
ing of  the  wind,  and  the  incessant  pattering  of  the 
rain,  contributed  to  cast  a  gloom  over  my  mind,  when 
connected  with  the  intelligence  of  the  awful  event 
that  had  summoned  me  out,  which  was  deepened  into 
horror  by  the  spectacle  I  was  doomed  to  witness. 


216  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

On  reaching  the  house,  I  found  Mrs.  J in  violent 

hysterics,  surrounded  by  several  of  her  neighbours, 
who  had  been  called  in  to  her  assistance.  I  repaired 
instantly  to  the  scene  of  death,  and  beheld  vrhat  I 
shall ,  never  forget.  The  room  was  occupied  by  a 
white-curtained  bed.  There  was  but  one  window, 
and  before  it  was  a  table,  on  which  stood  a  looking- 
glass,  hung  with  a  little  white  drapery ;  and  the  vari- 
ous paraphernalia  of  the  toilet  lay  scattered  about — 
pins,  brooches,  curling-papers,  ribands,  gloves,  &c. 
An  arm-chair  was  drawn  to  this  table,  and  in  it  sat 

Miss  J ,  stone  dead.     Her  head  rested  upon  her 

right  hand,  her  elbow  supported  by  the  table  ;  while 
her  left  hung  down  by  her  side,  grasping  a  pair  of 
curling-irons.  Each  of  her  wrists  was  encircled  by 
a  sho\A^  gilt  bracelet.  She  was  dressed  in  a  white 
musHn  frock,  with  a  little  bordering  of  blonde.  Her 
face  was  turned  towards  the  glass,  which,  by  the  light 
of  the  expiring  candle,  reflected  with  frightful  fidelity 
the  clammy  fixed  features,  daubed  over  with  rouge 
and  carmine — the  fallen  lower  jaw,  and  the  eyes  di- 
rected full  into  the  glass  with  a  cold,  dull  stare  that 
was  appalling.  On  examining  the  countenance  more 
narrowly,  I  thought  I  detected  the  traces  of  a  smirk 
of  conceit  and  self-complacency,  which  not  even  the 
palsying  touch  of  death  could  wholly  obliterate. 
The  hair  of  the  corpse,  all  smooth  and  glossy,  was 
curled  with  elaborate  precision,  and  the  skinny,  sallow 
neck  was  encircled  with  a  string  of  glistening  pearls. 
The  ghastly  visage  of  death  thus  leering  through  the 
tinselry  of  fashion— the  "vain  show"  of  artificial  joy 
— was  a  horrible  mockery  of  the  fooleries  of  life ! 

Indeed  it  was  a  most  humiliating  and  shocking 
spectacle.  Poor  creature !  struck  dead  in  the  veiy 
act  of  sacrificing  at  the  shrine  of  female  vanity! 
She  must  have  been  dead  for  some  time,  perhaps  for 
twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour,  when  I  arrived,  for 
nearly  all  the  animal  heat  had  desferted  the  body, 
which  was  rapidly  stiffening.    I'  attempted,  but  in 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  217 

vain,  to  draw  a  little  blood  from  the  arm.  Two  or 
tliree  women  present  proceeded  to  remove  the  corpse 
to  the  bed  for  the  purpose  of  laying  it  out.  What 
strange  passiveness !  No  resistance  offered  to  them 
while  straightening  the  bent  right  arm,  and  binding 
the  jaws  together  with  a  faded  white  riband  which 

jMiss  J had  destmed  for  her  waist  that  evening. 

On  examination  of  the  body  we  foimd  that  death 
had  been  occasioned  by  disease  of  the  heart.  Her 
life  might  have  been  protracted,  possibly  for  years, 
had  she  but  taken  my  advice  and  that  of  her  mother. 
I  have  seen  many  hundreds  of  corpses,  as  well  in  the 
calm  composure  of  natural  death  as  mangled  and 
distorted  by  violence ;  but  never  have  I  seen  so  start- 
ling a  satire  upon  human  vanity,  so  repulsive,  un- 
sightly, and  loathsome  a  spectacle,  as  a  corpse  dressed 
for  a  hall ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  TURNED  HEAD THE  WIFE. 

The  Turned  Head. 

Hypochondriasis,*  Janus-like,  has  two  faces — a 
melancholy  and  a  laughable  one.  The  former, 
though  oftener  seen  in  actual  life,  does  not  present 
itself  so  frequently  to  the  notice  of  the  medical 
practitioner  as  the  latter ;  though,  in  point  of  fact, 
one  as  imperatively  calls  for  his  interference  as  the 
other.  It  may  be  safely  asserted,  that  a  permanently 
morbid  mood  of  mind  invariably  indicates  a  dis- 
ordered state  of  some  part  or  other  of  the  physical 

*  Arising,  as  its  name  imports,  from  disease  in  the  hypo-chondres 
'h-KQ  xov^po?),  i.  e.  the  viscera  lying  xxnder  the  cartilage  of  the  breast-bone 
and  false  ribs,  the  liver,  spleen,  &c. 

T 


218  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

system  ;  and  which  of  llie  two  forms  of  hypochondria 
Avill  manifest  itself  in  a  particular  case,  depends 
altog'€ther    upon    the  mental   idiosyncrasy  of   the 
patient.     Those  of  a  dull,  phleg-matic  temperament, 
vmstirred  by  intermixture   and  collision  with  the 
bustling  activities  of  life,   addicted  to    sombrous 
trains  of  reflection,  and,  by  a  kind  of  sympathy, 
always  looking  on  the  gloomy  side  of  things,  gene- 
rally sink,  at  some  period  or  other  of  their  lives, 
into    the  "  slough   of   despond" — as    old    Bunyan 
significantly  terms  it — from  whence  they  are  seldom 
altogether  extricated.     Religious  enthusiasts  con- 
stitute by  far  the  largest  portion  of  those  afflicted 
with   this   species  of   hypochondria — instance   the 
wretched  Cowper ;  and  such  I  have  never  known 
entirely    disabused    of    these    dreadful    fantasies. 
Those,  again,   of  a   gay  and  lively  fancy,  ardent 
temperament,  and  droll,  grotesque  appetencies,  ex- 
hibit the  laughable  aspect  of  hypochondriasis.     In 
such  you  may  expect  conceits  of  the  most  astound- 
ing absurdity  that  could  possibly  take  possession 
of  the  topsy-turvied  intellects  of  a  confirmed  lunatic  ; 
and  persisted  in  with  a  pertinacity — a  dogged  de- 
fiance of  evidence  to  the  contrary — which  is  itself 
as  exquisitely  ludicrous  as  distressing  and  provok- 
ing.     There   is    generally  preserved  an    amazing 
consistency  in  the  delusion,  in  spite  of  the  incipient 
rebuttals   of   sensation.      In  short,  when  once   a 
crotchet  of  such  a  sort  as  that  hereafter  mentioned 
is  fairly  entertained  in  the  fancy,  the  patient  will 
not  let  it  go  !     It  is  cases  of  this  kind  which  baflfle 
the  most  adroit  medical  tactician.     For  my  OAvn  part, 
]  have  had  to  deal  with  several  during  the  course  of 
my  practice,  which,  if  described  coolly  and  faithfuH-y 
on  paper,  would  appear  preposterously  incredible  to 
a  non-prcfessional  reader.     Such  may  possibly  be, 
t]ie  fate  of  flie  following.     I  have  given  it  with  a 
ininutencss  of  detail,  in  h^everal  parts,  which  I  tlil.ik 
IS  Nvarranted  by  the  intcacsling  nature  of  tht 


DIARl    OF    A    LATE    PHYSrCIAX.  219 

by  the  rarity  of  such  narratives, — and,  above  all,  by 
tire  peculiar  character  and  talents  of  the  well-known 
individual  who  is  the  patient ;  and  I  am  convinced 
that  no  one  would  laus^h  more  heartily  over  it  than  he 
himself — had  he  not  long  lain  quiet  in  his  grave  ! 

You  could  scarcely  look  on  N without  laugh- 
ing. There  was  a  sorry  sort  of  humorous  expression 
in  his  odd  and  ugly  features,  which  suggested  to  you 
the  idea  that  he  was  always  struggling  to  repel  some 
joyous  emotion  or  other  with  painful  effort.  There 
was  the  rich  light  of  intellect  in  his  eye,  which  was 
dark  and  full — you  felt  when  its  glance  w^as  settled 
upon  you  ; — and  there  it  remained  concentrated,  at 
the  expense  of  all  the  other  features ; — in  the  clumsy 
osseous  ridge  of  eye-bone  impending  sullenly  over 
his  eyes — the  Pittlike  nose,  looking  like  a  finger  and 
thumb-full  of  dough  drawn  out  from  the  plastic  mass, 
with  two  ill-formed  holes  inserted  in  the  bulbous 
extremity — and  his  large  liquorish,  shapeless  lips — 
looked  altogether  any  thing  but  refined  or  intellec- 
tual. He  was  a  man  of  fortune — an  obstinate  bache- 
lor— and  was  educated  at  Cambridge,  where  he 
attained  considerable  distinction ;  and  at  the  period 
of  his  introduction  to  the  reader  was  in  his  thirty- 
eighth  or  fortieth  year.  If  I  were  to  mention  his 
name  it  would  recall  to  the  literary  reader  many 
excellent  and  some  admirable  portions  of  literature, 

for  the  perusal  of  which  he  has  to  thank  N . 

The  prevailing  complexion  of  his  mind  was  som- 
brous — but  played  on  occasionally  by  an  arch-hu- 
morous fancy,  flinging  its  rays  of  fun  and  droller}" 
over  the  dark  surface,  like  moonbeams  on  miduight 
waters.  1  do  believe  he  considered  it  sinful  to 
smile  !  There  was  a  puckering  up  of  the  corner  of 
the  mouth,  and  a  forced  corrugation  of  the  eye- 
brows— the  expression  of  which  was  set  at  naught 
by  the  conviviality — the  solemn  drollery  of  the  eyes. 
You  saw  Momus  leering  out  of  every  glance  of 
them !     He  said  many  very  witty  tilings  in  conver- 


220  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

satioii,  and  had  a  knack  of  uttering  the  quaintest 
conceits  with  something  like  a  whine  of  compunction 
in  his  tone,  which  ensured  him  roars  of  laughter. 
As  for  his  own  laugh — when  he  did  laugh — there  is 
no  describing  it — short,  sudden,  unexpected  was  it, 
like  a  flash  of  powder  in  the  dark.  Not  a  trace  of 
real  merriment  lingered  on  his  features  an  instant 
after  the  noise  had  ceased.  You  began  to  doubt 
whether  he  had  laughed  at  all,  and  to  look  about  to 
see  where  the  explosion  came  from.  Except  on 
such  rare  occasions  of  forgetfulness  on  his  part,  his 
demeanour  was  very  calm  and  quiet.  He  loved  to 
get  a  man  who  would  come  and  sit  with  him  all  the 
evening,  smoking,  and  sipping  wine  in  cloudy  silence. 
He  could  not  endure  bustle  or  obstreperousness ; 
and  when  he  did  mifortunately  fall  foul  of  a  son 
of  noise,  as  soon  as  he  had  had  "  a  sample  of 
his  quality,"  he  would  abruptly  rise  and  take  his 
leave,  saying,  in  a  querulous  tone,  like  that  of  a  sick 
child,  "  I'll  go  !" — [probably  these  two  words  will  at 
once  recall  him  to  the  memory  of  more  than  one  of 
my  readers] — and  he  was  as  good  as  his  word ;  for 
all  his  acquaintances — and  I  among  the  number — 
knew  his  eccentricities,  and  excused  them. 

Such  was  the  man — at  least  as  to  the  more  promi- 
nent points  of  his  character — whose  chattering 
black  servant  presented  himself  hastily  to  my  notice 
one  morning,  as  I  was  standing  on  my  door-steps, 
pondering  the  probabilities  of  wet  or  fine  for  the  day. 
He  spoke  in  such  a  spluttering  tone  of  trepidation 
that  it  was  some  time  before  I  could  conjecture 
what  was  the  matter.  At  length  I  distinguished 
something  like  the  words, "  Oh,  docta,  docta,  com-a, 
and  see-a  a  massa !  Com-a !  Him  so  gashly — him  so 
ill — ver  dam  bad — him  say  so — Oh,  lorra-lorra-lorra  ! 
Com  see-a  a  massa — him  ver  orrid  !" 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  rhatter  with  you,  you 
sable,  eh  1 — Why  can't  you  speak  slower,  and  tell  me 
plainly  what's  the  matter  ?"  said  I,  impatiently,  for 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  221 

he  seemed  inclined  to  gabble  on  in  that  strain  for 
some  minutes  longer.  "  Whafs  the  matter  with  your 
master,  sirrah,  eh  ?"  I  inquired,  jerking  his  striped 
morning-jacket. 

"  Oh,  docta  !  docta !  Com-a — massa  d— n  bad  ! 
Him  say  so ! — Him  head  turned !  Him  head  turned" — 

"  Him  rchat,  sirrah  ]""  said  I,  in  amazement. 

"Him  head  turned,  docta. — him  head  .turned,"  re- 
plied the  man,  slappijighis  fingers  against  his  forehead. 

"  Oh,  I  see  how  it  is,  I  see  ;  ah,  yes,"  I  replied, 
pointing  to  my  forehead  in  tura,  wishing  him  to  see 
that  I  understood  him  to  say  his  master  had  been 
seized  with  a  fit  of  insanity. 

"  Iss,  iss,  docta — him  massa  head  turned — him 
head  turned  ! — d — n  bad !" 

"  WTiere  is  :\Ir.  N ,  Nambo,  eh  ?" 

"  Him  lying  all  'long  in  his  bed,  massa — him  d — n 
bad.     But  him  'tickler  quiet — him  head  turned" — 

"  Why,  Nambo,  what  makes  you  say  your  master's 
head's  turned,  eh  ]     \\liat  d'ye  mean  ?" 

"  Him  massa  self  say  so — him  did — him  head 
turned — d — n."  I  felt  as  much  at  a  loss  as  ever;  it 
was  so  odd  for  a  gentleman  to  acknowledge  to  his 
negro-servant  that  his  head  was  turned. 

"  Ah !  he's  gone  mad,  you  mean,  eli — is  that  it  ? 
Hem  !  mad — is  it  so  ?"  said  I,  pointing,  with  a  wink, 
to  my  forehead.  "  No,  no,  doctor — him  liead  turned ! 
— liim  head,''''  replied  Nambo  ;  and  raisiug  both  his 
hands  to  his  head,  he  seemed  trying  to  twist  it 
round !  I  could  make  nothing  of  his  gesticulations, 
so  I  dismissed  him,  telling  him  to  take  word  that  I 
should  make  his  masters  my  first  call.  I  may  as 
well  say,  that  I  w^as  on  terms  of  friendly  familiarity 

with  Mr.  N ,  and  puzzled  myself  all  the  way  I 

Avent,  with  attempting  to  conjecture  whatw^^c;  crotchet 
he  had  taken  into  his  odd — and,  latterly,  1  began  to 
suspect,  half-addled— head.  He  had  never  disclosed 
symptoms  of  what  is  generally  understood  by  the 
word  hj-pochondriasis ;  but  I  often  thouglit  there 
T  2 


222  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

was  not  a  likelier  subject  in  the  world  for  it.  At 
len^h  I  found  myself  knocking  at  my  friend's  door, 
fully  prepared  for  some  specimen  of  ahftising  ec- 
centricity— for  the  thought  now  crossed  my  mind 
that  he  might  be  really  ill.  Nambo  instantly  an- 
swered my  summons,  and  in  a  twinkling  conducted 
me  to  his  master's  bedroom.  It  was  partially  dark- 
ened, but  there  was  light  enough  for  me  to  discern 
that  there  was  nothing  unusual  in  his  appearance. 
The  bed  was  much  tossed,  to  be  sure,  as  if  with  the 
restlessness  of  the  recumbent,  who  lay  on  his  back, 
with  his  head  turned  on  one  side,  and  buried  deep  in 
the  pillow,  and  his  arms  folded  together  outside  the 
counterpane.  His  features  certainly  wore  an  air  of 
exhaustion  and  dejection,  and  his  eye  settled  on  me 
with  an  alarmed  expression  from  the  moment  that 
he  perceived  my  entrance. 

"  Oh,  dear  doctor ! — Isn't  this  frightful ! — Isn't  it  a 
dreadful  piece  of  business  ?" 

"  Frightful ! — dreadful  business  V  I  repeated,  with 
much  sui-prise.  "  What  is  frightful  1  Are  you  ill — 
have  you  had  an  accident,  eh  ?" 

"  Ah— ah !— you  may  well  ask  that !"  he  replied ; 
adding,  after  a  pause,  "  it  took  place  this  morning 
about  two  hours  ago  !" 

"  You  speak  in  parables,  Mr.  N !    Why,  what 

in  the  world  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  About  two  hours  ago — yes,"  he  muttered,  as  if  he 
had, not  heard  me.  "  Doctor,  do  tell  me  truly  now, 
for  the  curiosity  of  the  thing,  what  did  you  think  of 
me  on  first  entering  the  room  1 — Eh  ? — Feel  inclined 
to  laugh,  or  be  shocked — which  ]" 

"  Mr.  N ,  I  really  have  no  time  for  trifling,  as  I 

am  particularly  busy  to-day.  Do,  I  beg,  be  a  little 
more  explicit !  Why  have  you  sent  for  me  1 — 
What  is  the  matter  with  you  1" 

"  Why,  God  bless  me,  doctor !"  he  replied,  with 
an  air  of  angry  surprise  in  his  manner  which  I 
never  saw  before,  "  I  think,  indeed,  it's  you  who  are 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  223 

trifling !  Have  you  lost  your  eyesight  this  morn- 
ing ?  Do  you  pretend  to  say  you  do  not  see  I  have 
undergoieone  of  the  most  extraordinary  alterations 
in  appearance  that  the  body  of  man  is  capable  of — 
such  as  never  was  heard  or  read  of  before  ?" 

"  Once  more,  Mr.  N ,"  1  repeated,  in  a  tone  of 

calm  astonishment,  "  be  so  good  as  to  be  explicit. 
What  are  you  raving  about  ]" 

"  Raving ! — Egad,  I  think  it's  you  who  are  raving, 
doctor !"  he  answered  ;  "  or  you  must  wish  to  insult 
me  !  Do  you  pretend  to  tell  me  you  do  not  see  that 
my  head  is  turned  ?'"' — and  he  looked  me  in  the  face 
steadily  and  sternly. 

"Ha — ha — ha! — Upon  my* honour,  N ,  I've 

been  suspecting  as  much  for  this  last  five  or  ten 
minutes !  I  don't  think  a  patient  ever  described  his 
disease  more  accurately  before  !" 

"  Don't  mock  me.  Doctor  ,"  replied  N , 

sternly.     "  By ,  I  can't  bear  it !     It's  enough  for 

me  to  endure  the  horrid  sensations  I  do !" 

"  Mr.  N ,  what  do  you" 

"  \\Tiy,  d n n,  Doctor !  you'll  drive  me 

mad! — Can't  you  see  that  the  back  of  my  head  is  in 
front,  and  my  face  looking  backwards  ?  Horrible !"  I 
burst  into  loud  laughter. 

"  Doctor ,  it's  time  for  you  and  me  to  part — 

liigh  time,"  said  he,  turning  his  face  away  from  me. 
"I'll  let  you  know  that  I'll  stand  your  nonsense  no 
longer  !  I  called  you  in  to  give  me  yom-  advice,  not 
to  sit  grinning  like  a  baboon  by  my  bedside  !     Once 

more, — finally :  Doctor ,  are  you  disposed  to  be 

serious  and  rational  ]  If  you  are  not,  my  man  shall 
show  you  to  the  door  the  moment  you  please."  He 
said  this  in  such  a  sober,  earnest  tone  of  indignation, 
that  I  saw  he  was  fully  prepared  to  carry  his  threat 
into  execution.  I  determined,  therefore,  to  humour 
him  a  little,  shrewdly  suspecting  some  temporary 
suspension  of  his  sanity — not  exactly  madness — but 
at  least  some  extraordinary  hallucination.    To  adopt 


224  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

an  expression  which  I  have  several  times  heard  him 
use — "  I  saw  what  o'clock  it  was,  and  set  my  watch 
to  the  time." 

"  Oh — well ! — I  see  now  how  matters  stand  ! — 
The  fact  is,  I  did  observe  the  extraordinary  posture 
of  affairs  you  complain  of — immediately  I  entered 
the  room — but  supposed  you  were  joking  with  me, 
and  twisting  your  head  round  in  that  odd  way  for 
the  purpose  of  hoaxing  me ;  so  I  resolved  to  av ait 
and  see  which  of  us  could  play  our  parts  in  tlie 

farce  longest! — Why,  how's  all  this,  Mr.  N 1 

— Is  it  then  really  the  case  I — Are  you — in — in  ear- 
nest— in  having  your  head  turned?" — "  In  earnest, 

doctor !"  replied  Mr.  N ,  in  amazement.     "  "Why, 

do  you  suppose  this  happened  by  my  own  will 
and  agency  ? — Absurd  !" — "  Oh,  no,  no — most  as- 
suredly not — it  is  a  phenomenon — hem  !  hem ! — a 
phenomenon — not  unfrequently  attending  on  the 
nightmare,^''  I  answered,  with  as  good  a  grace  as 
possible. 

"  Pho,  pho,  doctor ! — Nonsense  ! — You  must  really 
think  me  a  child,  to  try  to  mislead  me  with  such  stuff 
as  that !  I  tell  you  again,  I  am  in  as  sober  possession 
of  my  senses  as  ever  I  was  in  my  life;  and,  once 
more,  I  assure  you,  that  in  truth  and  reality  my  head 
is  turned — literally  so." 

"  Well,  well ! — So  I  see ! — It  is  indeed,  a  veiy  ex- 
traordinary case — a  very  unusual  one  ;  but  I  don't, 
by  any  means,  despair  of  bringing  all  things  round 
again ! — Pray  tell  me  how  this  singular  and  afflicting 
accident  happened  to  you  V 

"  Certainly,"  said  he,  despondingly.  "  Last  night,  or 
rather  this  morning,  I  dreamed  that  I  had  got  to  the 
West  Indies — to  Barbadoes,  an  island  where  I  have, 
as  you  know,  a  little  estate  left  me  by  my  uncle, 

C ;  and  that,  a  few  moments  after  I  had  entered 

the  plantation,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  slaves 
at  work,  tliere  came  a  sudden  hurricane,  a  more 
tremendous  one  than  ever  was  known  in  those  parts ; 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  225 

— trees — canes — huts — all  were  swept  before  it ! 
Even  the  very  ground  on  which  we  stood  seemed 
whirled  away  beneath  us !  I  turned  my  head  a 
moment  to  look  at  the  direction  in  Avhich  things 
were  going-,  when,  in  the  very  act  of  turning,  the 
blast  suddenly  caught  my  head,  and — oh,  my  God ! 
— blew  it  completely  round  on  my  shoulders,  till  my 
face  looked  quite — directly  behind  me — over  my 
back !  In  vain  did  I  almost  wrench  my  head  off  my 
shoulders,  in  attempting  to  twist  it  round  again ;  and 
what  with  horror,  and — and — altogether — in  short,  I 
awoke — and  found  the  frightful  reality  of  my  situa- 
tion ! — Oh,  gi'acious  Heaven !"  continued  Mr.  N , 

clasping  his  hands,  and  looking  upwards,  "what 
have  I  done  to  deserve  such  a  honible  visitation  as 
this  1" 

Humph !  it  is  quite  clear  -what  is  the  matter  here, 
thought  I ;  so  assuming  an  air  of  becoming  profes- 
sional gravity,  I  felt  his  pulse,  begged  him  to  let  me 
see  his  tongue,  made  many  inquiries  about  his 
general  health,  and  then  proceeded  to  subject  all 
parts  of" his  neck  to  a  most  rigorous  examination; 
before,  behind,  on  each  side,  over  eveiy  natural  ele- 
vation and  depression,  if  such  the  usual  varieties  of 
surface  may  be  tenned,  did  my  fingers  pass  ;  he  all 
the  while  sighing,  and  cursing  his  evil  stars,  and 
wondering  how  it  was  that  he  had  not  been  killed  by 
the  "  dislocation !"  This  little  farce  over,  I  con- 
tinued silent  for  some  moments,  scarcely  able  the' 
while  to  control  my  inclination  to  burst  into  fits  of 
laughter,  as  if  pondering  the  possibility  of  being  able 
to  devise  some  means  of  cure. 

"  Ah,— thank  God !— I  have  it— I  have  it"— 

"  What !— what— eh  ?— what  is  it  ]" 

"I've  thought  of  a  remedy,  which,  if — if~if  any 
thing  in  the  world  can  bring  it  about,  will  set  matters 
right  again — will  bring  back  your  head  tb  its  former 
position." 

"Oh,  God  be  praised  !— Dear— dear  doctor!— if 


,226  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

you  do  but  succeed,  I  shall  consider  a  thousand 
pounds  but  the  earnest  of  what  I  will  do  to  evince 
my  gratitude !"  he  exclaimed,  squeezing  my  hand 
fervently.  "But  I  am  not  absolutely  certain  that 
we  shall  succeed,"  said  I,  cautiously.  "We  wil], 
however,  give  the  medicine  a  twenty-four  hours' 
trial ;  during  all  which  time  you  must  be  in  perfect 
repose,  and  consent  to  lie  in  utter  darkness.  Will 
you  abide  by  my  directions  ■?" 

"  Oh,  yes — yes — yes  ! — dear  doctor ! — What  is  the 
inestimable  remedy  1  Tell  me — tell  me  the  name  of 
my  ransomer.     I'll  never  divulge  it — never  !" 

"  That  is  not  consistent  with  my  plans  at  present, 

Mr.  N ,"  I  replied,  seriously ;  "  but,  if  successful 

— of  which  I  own  I  have  very  sanguine  expectations 
— I  pledge  i)iy  honour  to  reveal  the  secret  to  you." 
"  Well — but— at  least  you'll  explain  the  nature  of  its 
operation — eh  ?"  Is  it  internal — external — what "?" 
The  remedy,  I  told  him,  would  be  of  both  forms ; 
the  latter,  however,  the  more  immediate  agent  of  his 
recovery  ;  the  former,  preparatory — predisposing.  I 
may  tell  the  reader  simply  what  my  physic  was  to 
be :  three  bread-pills  (the  ordinary  placebo  in  such 
cases)  every  hour ;  a  strong  laudanum  draught  in  the 
evening;  and  a  huge  bread-and-water  poultice  for 
his  neck,  with  which  it  was  to  be  environed  till  the 
parts  were  sufficiently  mollified  to  admit  of  the  neck's 
being  twisted  back  again  into  its  former  position ; 
and  when  that  was  the  case — why — to  ensure  its 
permanency,  he  was  to  wear  abroad  band  of  strength- 
ening-plaster for  a  week !  !  This  was  the  bright 
device,  struck  out  by  me — all  at  a  heat ;  and  ex- 
plained to  the  poor  victim  with  the  utmost  solemnity 
and  deliberation  of  manner — all  the  wise  winks  and 
knowing  nods,  and  hesitating  "hems"  and  "has"  of 
professional  usage — sufficed  to  inspire  him  with  some 
confidence  as  to  the  results.  I  confess  I  shared  the 
most  confident  expectations  of  success.  A  sound 
night's  rest,  hourly  pill-taking,  and  the*'glamm3^ 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  227 

saturating  sensation  round  about  his  neck,  I  fully 
believed,  would  bring  liini  round  : — and,  in  the  full 
anticipation  of  seeing  him  disabused  of  the  ridiculous 
notion  he  had  taken  into  his  head,  I  promised  to  see 
him  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and  took  my  de- 
parture. After  quitting  the  house,  I  could  not  help 
laughing  immoderately  at  the  recollection  of  the 

scene  I  had  just  witnessed ;  and  Mrs.  M ,  who 

liappened  to  be  passing  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  and  observed  my  involmitaiy  risibility,  took 
occasion  to  spread  an  ill-natured  rumour,  that  I  was 
in  the  habit  of  "  making  myself  merry  at  the  expense 
of  my  patients !" — I  foresaw,  that  should  this  "  crick 
in  the  neck"  prove  permanent,  I  stood  a  chance  of 
listening  to  innumerable  conceits  of  the  most  whim- 
sical and  paradoxical  kind  imaginable — for  I  knew 
N 's  natural  turn  to  humour.  It  was  inconceiv- 
able to  me  how  such  an  extraordinary  delusion  could 
bear  the  blush  of  daylight,  resist  the  evidence  of  his 
senses,  and  the  unanimous  simultaneous  assurances 
of  all  who  beheld  him.  Though  it  is  little  credit  to 
me,  and  tells  but  small  things  for  my  self-control — 
I  cannot  help  acknowledging,  that  at  the  bedside  of 
my  next  patient,  who  was  within  two  or  three  hours 
of  her  end,  the  surpassing  absurdity  of  the  "  turned 
head"  notions  glared  in  such  ludicrous  extremes 
before  me,  that  I  was  nearly  bursting  a  blood-vessel 
with  endeavours  to  suppress  a  perfect  peal  of 
laughter ! 

About  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning,  I  paid 

N a  second  visit.     The   door  was  opened  as 

usual" by  his  black  servant,  Nambo;  by  whose  de- 
meanour I  saw  that  something  or  other  extraordinary 
awaited  me.  His  sable  sw^ollen  features  and  dancing 
white  eyeballs  showed  that  he  was  nearly  bursting 
with  laughter.  "  He — lie — he  !"  he  chuckled,  in  a 
sort  of  sotto  Doce,  "  him  inassa  head  turned! — liim 
back  infrojit!  him  watldle!— he — he — lie!" — and  he 
twitch(rffliis  clothes— jerking  his  jacket^M^iitfir pointing 


228  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

to  his  breeches,  in  a  way  that  I  did  not  understand. 

On  entering-  the  room  where  N ,  with  one  of  his 

favourite  silent  smoking  friends  (M ,  the^  late 

well-known  counsel),  were  sitting  at  breakfast,  I 
encountered  a  spectacle  which  nearly  made  me 
expire  with  laughter.  It  is  almost  useless  to  at- 
tempt describing  it  on  paper — yet  I  will  try.  Two 
gentlemen  sat  opposite  each  other  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  by  the  fire  :  the  one  with  his  face  to  me  was 

Mr  M. ;  and  N sat  with  his  back  towards  the 

door  by  Avhich  I  entered.  A  glance  at  the  former 
sufficed  to  show  me  that  he  was  sitting  in  tortures 
of  suppressed  risibility.  He  was  quite  red  in  the 
face — his  features  were  swelled  and  puffy — and  his 
eyes  fixed  strainingly  on  the  fire,  as  though  in  fear 
of  encountering  the  ludicrous  figure  of  his  friend. 
They  were  averted  from  the  fire,  for  a  moment,  to 
welcome  my  entrance — and  then  redirected  thither 
with  such  a  painful  effort — such  a  comical  air  of 
compulsory  seriousness — as,  added  to  the  preposte- 
rous fashion  after  which  poor  N had  chosen  to 

dress  himself — completely  overcame  me.  The  thing 
was  irresistible ;  and  my  utterance  of  that  peculiar 
choking  sound,  which  indicates  the  most  strenuous 
efforts  to  suppress  one's  risible  emotions,  was  the 
unwitting  signal  for  each  of  us  bursting  into  a  long 
and  loud  shout  of  laughter.  It  was  in  vain  that  I 
bit  my  under  lip  almost  till  it  brought  blood,  and  that 
my  eyes  strained  till  the  sparks  flashed  from  them, 
in  the  vain  attempt  to  cease  laughing  ;  in  full  before 
me  sat  the  exciting  cause  of  it,  in  the  shape  of 

N ,  his  head  supported  by  the  palm  of  his  left 

hand,  with  his  elbow  propped  against  the  side  of  the 
armchair.  The  knot  of  his  neck-kerchief  was  tied, 
with  its  customary  formal  precision,  back  at  the  nape 
of  his  neck ;  his  coat  and  waistcoat  were  buttoned 
down  his  back ; — and  his  trousers,  moreover,  to  match 
the  novel  fashion,  buttoned  behind,  and,  of  course, 
the  hinder  parts  of  them  bulged  out  ridicuftiisiy  in 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  239 

front ! — Only  to  look  at  the  coat-collar  fittin£C  under 
the  chm,  like  a  stiff  military  stock — the  four  tail 
buttons  of  brass  glistening  conspicuously  before,  and 
the  front  parts  of  the  coat  buttoned  carefully  over 
his  back — the  compulsory  handiwork  of  poor  Nambo ! 

N ,  perfectly   astounded    at    our    successive 

shouts  of  laughter — for  we  found  it  impossible  to 
stop, — suddenly  rose  up  in  his  chair,  and,  almost  in- 
articulate with  fury,  demanded  what  we  meant  by 
such  extraordinary  behaviour.  This  fury,  however, 
was  all  lost  on  me;  1  could  only  point,  in  an  ecstasy 
of  laughter,  almost  bordering  on  phrensy,  to  his  novel 
mode  of  dress — as  my  apology'-.  He  stamped  his 
foot,  uttered  volleys  of  imprecations  against  us,  and 
then  ringing  his  bell,  ordered  the  servant  to  show  us 
both  to  the  door.  The  m.ost  violent  emotions,  how- 
ever, must  in  time  expend  their  violence,  though  in 
the  presence  of  the  same  exciting  cause ;  and  so  it 

was  with  Mr.  M and  myself.     On  seeing  how 

seriously  affronted  N was,  we  both  sat  down, 

and  I  entered  into  examination,  my  whole  frame 
aching  with  the  prolonged  convulsive  fits  of  irre- 
pressible laughter. 

It  would  be  in  vain  to  attempt  a  recital  of  one  of 
the  drollest  conversations  in  which  I  ever  bore  pari. 

N 's  temper  was  thoroughly  soured  for  some 

time.  He  declared  that  my  physic  was  all  a  hum- 
bug, and  apiece  of  quackery;  and  the  "  d — d  pudding 
romid  his  neck"  the  absurdest  farce  he  ever  heard 
of;  he  had  a  great  mind  to  make  Nambo  eat  it,  for 
the  pains  he  had  taken  in  making  it  and  fastening  it 
on — ^poor  fellow ! 

Presently  he  lapsed  into  a  melancholy,  reflective 
mood.  He  protested  that  the  laws  of  locomotion 
were  utterly  inexplicable  to  him — a  practical  parar 
dox ;  that  his  volitions  as  to  progressive  and  retro- 
gressive motion  neutralized  each  other;  and  the 
necessary  result  was,  a  cursed  circumsryratory  mo- 
tion— for  all  the  world  like  that  of  a  hen  that  had 
I' 


230  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

lost  one  of  its  Avings !  That  henceforward  he  should 
be  compelled  to  crawl,  crablike,  through  life,  all 
ways  at  once,  and  none  in  particular.  He  could  not 
conceive,  he  said,  which  was  the  nearest  way  from 
one  given  point  to  another ;  in  short,  that  all  his 
sensations  and  perceptions  were  disordered  and  con- 
foimded.  His  situation,  he  said,  w^as  an  admirable 
commentaiy  on  the  words  of  St.  Paul — "  But  I  see 
another  law  in  my  members  warring  against  the  law 
of  my  mind."  He  could  hot  conceive  how  the  ar- 
teries and  veins  of  the  neck  could  carry  and  return 
the  blood,  after  being  so  shockingly  twisted — or 
"  how^  the  windpipe  went  in,"  affording  a  free  course 
to  the  air  through  its  distorted  passage.  In  short, 
he  said,  he  w^as  a  M^alking  lie  !  Curious  to  ascertain 
the  consistency  of  this  anomalous  state  of  feeling,  I 
endeavoured  once  more  to  bring  his  delusion  to  the 
test  of  simple  sensation  by  placing  one  hand  on 
his  nose  and  the  other  on  his  breast,  and  asking 
him  w^hich  w^as  which,  and  whether  l30th  did  not 
lie  in  the  same  direction ;  he  wished  to  know  why 
I  persisted  in  making  myself  meriy  at  his  ex- 
pense. I  repeated  the  question,  still  keeping  my 
hands  in  the  same  position  ;  but  he  suddenly  pushed 
them  off,  and  asked  me,  with  indignation,  if  I  was 
not  ashamed  to  keep  his  head  looking  over  his 
shoulder  in  that  w^ay — accompanying  the  words  with 
a  shake  of  the  head,  and  a  sigh  of  exhaustion,  as  if 
it  had  really  been  twisted  round  into  the  wrong  di- 
rection. "  Ah !"  he  exclaimed,  after  a  pause,  "  if 
this  unnatural  state  of  affairs  should  prove  perma- 
nent— hem! — I'll  put  an  end  to  the  chapter!  He 
'—he — he  !  He — he — he  !"  he  continued,  bursting 
suddenly  into  one  of  those  short  abrupt  laughs, 
which  I  have  before  attempted  to  describe.  "  He — 
he — he  !  how  d — d  odd !"  We  both  asked  him,  in 
surprise,  what  he  meant,  for  his  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  fire  in  apparently  a  melancholy  mood. 
"  He— he— he  !   exquisitely  odd,  by  G — !     He — 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE  PHYSICIAN.  231 

he — ^he  !"  After  repeated  inquiries,  he  disclosed  the 
occasion  of  his  unusual  cachinnations. 

"  I've  just  been  thinking,"  said  he,  "  suppose — He, 
he,  he  I — suppose  it  was  to  come  to  pass  that  I  should 
be  hanged — he,  he,  he !  God  forbid,  by-the-way  ;  but, 
suppose  I  should,  how  old  Ketch  would  be  puzzled  ! 
— my  face  looking  one  way,  and  my  tied  hands  and 
arms  pointing  another!  How  the  crowd  would 
stare  !  He,  he,  he !  And  suppose,"  pursuing  the 
train  of  thought,  "  I  were  to  be  publicly  w^hipped — 
how  I  could  superintend  operations !  And  how  the 
devil  am  I  to  ride  on  horseback,  ehl  with  my  face 
to  the  tail,  or  to  the  mane  ?-  In  short,  what  is 
to  become  of  me  ]  I  am,  in  effect,  shut  out  from 
society !" 

"You  have  only  to  walk  circumspectly,^''  said 
M ;  "  and  as  for  hack-hiXers — hem." 

"  That's  odd — very — but  impertinent,"  replied  the 
hypochondriac,  with  a  mingled  expression  of  chagrin 
and  humour.  « 

"  Come,  come,  N ,  don't  look  so  steadily  on 

the  dark  side  of  things,"  said  I. 

"  The  dark  side  of  things  ]"  he  inquired — "  I 
think  it  is  the  hack-si^e.  of  things  I  am  compelled  to 
loc^  at !" 

"  Look  forward  to  better  days,"  said  I. 

"  Look  Jbrzi-ard,  again !  What  nonsense  !"  he 
replied,  interrupting  me  ;  "  impossible  !  How  can  I 
look  forward  .'^  My  life  will  henceforth  be  spent  in 
wretched  retrospectives  T  and  he  could  not  help 
smiling  at  the  conceit.  Having  occasion  during  the 
conversation  to  use  his  pocket-handkerchief,  he  sud- 
denly reached  his  hand  behind  as  usual,  and  was  a 
little  confused  to  find  that  the  usual  position  of  his 
coat-pocket  required  that  he  should  take  it  from 
before!  This  I  should  have  conceived  enough  to 
put  an  end  to  liis  delusion,  but  I  was  mistaken. 

"  Ah !  it  will  take  some  time  to  reconcile  me  to 
this  new  order  of  things — but  practice — practice, 


232  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

you  know !"  It  was  amazing  to  me  that  his  sensa- 
tions, so  contradictory  to  the  absurd  crotchet  he  liad 
taken  into  his  head,  did  not  convince  him  of  his 
error,  especially  when  so  frequently  compelled  to  act 
in  obedience  to  long-accustomed  impulses.  As,  for 
instance,  on  my  rising  to  go,  he  suddenly  started 
from  his  chair,  shook  my  hands,  and  accompanied 
me  to  the  door,  as  if  nothing  had  been  the  matter. 

"  Well  now !  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  said  I, 
triumphantly. 

"  Ah — ah !"  said  he,  after  a  puzzled  pause,  "  but 
you  little  know  the  effort  it  cost  me  !" 

He  did  not  persevere  long  in  the  absurd  way  of 
putting  on  his  clothes  which  I  have  just  described; 
but  even  after  he  had  discontinued  it,  he  alleged  his 
opinion  to  be,  that  the  front  of  his  clothes  ought  to 
be  with  his  face !  I  might  relate  many  similar 
fooleries  springing  from  this  notion  of  his  turned 
head,  but  sufficient  has  been  said  already  to  give  the 
reader  a  clear  idea  of  the  general  character  of  such 
delusions.  My  subsequent  interviews  with  him 
while  under  this  unprecedented  hallucination  were 
similar  to  the  two  which  I  have  attempted  to  describe. 
The  fit  lasted  near  a  month.  I  happened  luckily  to 
recollect  a  device  successfully  resorted  to  by  a  sa- 
gacious old  English  physician,  in  the  case  of  a  royal 
hypochondriac  abroad,  who  fancied  that  his  nose 
had  swelled  into  greater  dimensions  than  those  of 
his  whole  body  besides ;  and  forthwith  resolved  to 
adopt  a  similar  method  of  cure  with  N .  Elec- 
tricity was  to  be  the  wonder-working  talisman !  I 
lectured  him  out  of  all  opposition,  silenced  his 
scruples,  and  got  him  to  fix  an  evening  for  the  ex- 
orcisation  of  the  evil  spirit — as  it  might  well  be 
called — w^hich  had  taken  possession  of  him.     Let 

the  reader  fancy,  then,  N 's  sitting-room,  about 

seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  illuminated  with  a 
cheerful  fire,  and  four  mould  candles;    the  awful 


DIARY    or    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN*.  233 

electrifying  machine  dnly  disposed  for  action ;  Mr. 

S of Hospital,  Dr.  ,  and  myself,  all 

standing  round  it,  adjusting  the  jars,  chains,  &c. ;  and 
Nambo  busily  engaged  in  laying  bare  his  master's 

neck,  N all  the  while  eying  our  motions  with 

excessive  trepidation.  I  had  infinite  difficulty  in 
getting  his  consent  to  one  preliminary — the  bandag- 
ing of  his  eyes.  I  succeeded,  however,  at  last,  in 
persuading  him  to  undergo  the  operation  blindfolded, 
in  assuring  him  that  it  was  essential  to  success ;  for 
that  if  he  was  allowed  to  see  the  application  of  the 
conductor  to  the  precise  spot  requisite,  he  might 
start,  and  occasion  its  apposition  to  a  wrong  place ! 
The  real  reason  will  be  seen  presently ;  the  great 
manoeuvre  could  not  have  been  practised  but  on 
such  terms ;  for  how  could  I  give  his  head  a  sudden 
twist  round  at  the  instant  of  his  receiving  the  shock, 
if  he  saw  what  I  was  about-1  I  ought  to  have 
mentioned  that  we  also  prevailed  upon  him  to  sit 
with  his  arms  pinioned,  so  that  he  was  completely 
at  our  mercy.  None  of  us  could  refrain  from  an 
occasional  titter  at  the  absurdity  of  the  solemn 
farce  we  were  playing — fortunately,  however,  un- 
heard by  N .    At  length,  Nambo  being  turned 

out,  and  the  doors  locked,  lest  seeing  the  trick  he 
might  disclose  it  subsequently  to  his  master,  we 

commenced  operations.     S worked  the  machine 

— round,  and  round,  and  round,  whizzing — sparkling 
— crackling — till  the  jar  was  moderately  charged : 

it  was  then  conveyed  to  N 's  neck.  Dr. using 

the   conductor.     N ,   on  receiving   a  tolerably 

smart  shock,  started  out  of  his  chair,  and  I  had  not 
time  to  give  him  the  twist  I  had  intended.  After  a 
few  moments,  however,  he  protested  that  lie  felt 
"  something  loosened"  about  his  neck,  and  was  easily 
induced  to  submit  to  another  shock  considerably 
stronger  than  the  former.  The  instant  the  rod  v/ as 
applied  to  his  neck,  I  gave  the  head  a  sudden  ex- 
cruciating wrench  towards  the  left  shoulder,  S 

U2 


234  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

striking  him  at  the  same  moment  a  smart  blow  on 

the  crown.     Poor  N !     "  Thank  God !"  we  all 

exclaimed,  as  if  panting  for  breath. 

"  I — i — is  it  all  over  ?"  stammered  N ,  faintly — 

quite  confounded  with  the  effects  of  the  threefold 
remedy  we  had  adopted. 

"  Yes — thank  God,  we  have  at  last  brought  your 
head  round  again,  and  your  face  looks  forward  now 
as  heretofore !"  said  I. 

"  O,  remove  the  bandage — remove  it !  Let  my 
own  eyesight  behold  it !    Bring  me  a  glass  !" 

"As  soon  as  the  proper  bandages  have  been  ap- 
plied to  your  neck,  Mr.  N ." 

"  What,  eh — a  second  pudding,  eh  1" 

"  No,  merely  a  broad  band  of  diachlum  plaster,  to 
prevent — ^hem — the  contraction  of  the  skin,"  said  I. 
As  soon  as  that  was  done,  we  removed  the  handker- 
chiefs from  his  eyes  and  arms. 

"Oh,  my  God,  how  delightful!"  he  exclaimed, 
rising  and  walking  up  to  the  mirror  over  the  mantel- 
piece.    "  Ecstasy !     All  really  right  again" — 

"  My  dear  N ,  do  not,  I  beg,  do  not  work  your 

neck  about  in  that  way,  or  the  most  serious  disar- 
rangement of  the — the  parts,"  said  I — 

"Oh,  it's  so,  is  it?  Then  I'd  better  get  into  bed 
at  once,  I  think,  and  you'll  call  in  the  morning." 

I  did,  and  found  him  in  bed.  "  Well,  how  does  all 
go  on  this  morning  ]"  I  inquired. 

"Pretty  well — middling,"  he  replied,  with  some 
embarrassment  of  mamier.  "  Do  you  know,  doctor, 
I've  been  thinking  about  it  all  night  long— and  I 
strongly  suspect" — His  serious  air  alarmed  me — I 
began  to  fear  that  he  had  discovered  the  trick.  "  I 
strongly  suspect — hem — hem" — he  continued, 

"  What  ?"  I  inquired,  rather  sheepishly. 

"Why,  that  it  was  my  brains  only  that  were 
turned — and— that— that— most  ridiculous  piece  of 
business — " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  Mr.  N "  *  *  *  and  he  was 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN*.  235 

SO  ashamed  about  it,  that  he  set  off  for  the  countr\' 
immediately,  and  among  the  glens  and  mountains  of 
Scotland  endeavoured  to  forget  that  ever  he  dreamed 

that  mS  HEAD  WAS  TURNED. 


The  Wife. 

Monday  Evening,  25th  July,  18 — . — Well!  the 
poor  martyr  has  at  last  been  released  from  her 
sufferings,  and  her  wasted  remains  now  lie  hid  in 
ihe  kindly  gloom  of  the  grave.     Yes,  sweet,  abused, 

forgiving  Mrs.  T !  I  this  morning  attended  your 

funeral,  and  let  fall  a  tear  of  miavailing  regret! 
Shall  I  tell  your  sad  story  all  in  one  word  or  two  ? 
The  blow  that  broke  your  heart,  was  stmck  by  your 

HUSBAND  ! 

Heaven  grant  me  calmness  in  recording  your 
wrongs !  Let  not  the  feelings  of  outraged  humanity 
prompt  me  to  "  set  down  aught  in  malice ;"  may  I  be 
dispassionately  enough  disposed  to  say  but  the  half, 
nay,  e^en  the  hundredth  part  only,  of  what  I  know, 
and  my  conscience  will  stand  acquitted  !  Let  not  him 
who  shall  road  these  pages  anticipate  any  thing 
of  romance,  of  high-flown  rodomontade,  in  wHat 
follows.  It  is  all  about  a  poor,  ill-used,  heart-broken 
WIFE  :  and  such  a  one  is,  alas !  too  often  met  with 
in  all  classes  of  society  to  attract,  in  an  ordinary 
case,  any  thing  of  public  notice.  The  ensuing 
narration  will  not,  however,  be  found  an  ordinaiy 
case.  It  is  fraught  with  circumstances  of  sucli 
peculiar  aggravation,  and  exhibits  such  a  moving 
picture  of  the  tenderness  and  unrepining  fortitude  of 
woman,  that  I  am  tempted  to  give  it  at  some  length. 
Its  general  accuracy  may  be  relied  upon,  for  I  suc- 
ceeded in  wringing  it  from  the  reluctant  lips  of  the 
poor  sufferer  herself.  I  must,  however,  be  allowed 
to  s'lve  it  in  my  own  way;  though  at  the  risk  of  its 
being  thereby  divested  of  much  of  that  sorrowful 
simplicity  and  energy — that  touching  na'iret^.  which 


236  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

characterized  its  utterance.  I  shall  conclude  with 
extracting  some  portions  of  my  notes  of  visits  made 
in  a  professional  capacity. 

Miss  Jane  C had  as  numerous  a  retinue  of 

suitors  as  a  pretty  person,  well-known  sweetness 
of  disposition,  considerable  accomplishments,  and 
10,000/.  in  the  funds  could  not  fail  of  procuring  to 
the  possessor  of  so  many  charms.  She  was  an 
orphan,  and  was  left  absolute  mistress  of  her  prop- 
erty on  attaining  her  twenty-first  year.  All  the 
members  of  her  own  family  most  strenuously  backed 
the  pretensions  of  the  curate  of  the  parish — a 
young  man  of  ascertained  respectability  of  character 
and  family,  with  a  snug  stipend,  and  fair  prospects 
of  preferment.  His  person  and  manners  were 
agreeable  and  engaging ;  and  he  could  not  conceal 

his  inclination  to  fling  them  both  at  Miss  C 's 

feet.  All  who  knew  the  parties  said  it  would  be  an 
excellent  match  in  all  respects,  and  a  happy  couple 

they  would  make.  Miss  C herself  could  not  look 

at  the  curate  with  indifference — at  least  if  any  in- 
ference might  be  drawn  from  an  occasional  flushing 
of  her  features  at  church,  whenever  the  eyes  of  the 
clergyman  happened  to  glance  at  her — which  was 
much  oftener  than  his  duty  required.  In  short,  the 
motherly  gossips  of  the  place  all  looked  upon  it  as  a 
settled  thing,  and  had  pitched  upon  an  admirable 
house  for  the  future  couple.  They  owned  unani- 
mously that  "  the  girl  might  have  gone  further  and 
fared  worse,"  and  so  forth ;  which  is  a  great  deal  for 
such  people  to  say  about  such  matters. 

There  happened,  however,  to  be  given  a  great  ball, 

by  the  lady  of  the  ex-mayor,  where  Miss  C 

was  one  of  the  stars  of  the  evening;  and  at  this 
party  there  chanced  to  be  a  young  Londoner,  who 
had  just  come  down  on  a  three-weeks'  holy  day. 
He  was  training  for  the  law,  in  a  solicitor's  oflice, 
and  was  within  six  or  seven  months  of  the  expira- 
tion of  his  articles.     He  was  a  personable  sort  of 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  237 

fellow  to  look  at — a  spice  of  a  dandy — and  had  that 
kind  of  air  about  him  which  tells  of  tozvn, — if  not  of 
the  blandness,  ease,  and  elegance  of  the  West,  still 
— of  town, — which  contrasted  favourably  with  the 
comparative  ungainliness  of  provincials.  He  was, 
in  a  word,  a  sort  of  small  star ;  a  triton  among  the 
minnows ;  and  whatever  he  said  or  did  took  infallibly. 
Apprized  by  some  judicious  relations  of  the  united 

charms  of  Miss  C 's  purse  and  person,  he  took 

care  to  pay  her  the  most  conspicuous  attentions. 
Alas!  the  quiet  claims  of  the  curate  were  soon 
silenced  by  his  bustling  rival.  This  young  spark 
chatted  Miss  C out  of  her  calm  senses.  Wher- 
ever she  went  he  followed;  whatever  she  said  or 
did  he  applauded.  He  put  into  requisition  all  his 
small  acquirements — he  sung  a  little,  danced  more, 
and  talked  an  infinity.  To  be  brief,  he  determined 
on  carrying  the  fort  with  a  coup  de  main;  and  he 
succeeded.  The  poor  curate  was  forgotten  for 
ever!     Before   the  enterprising  young  lawyer  left 

he  was  an  accepted  suitor  of  Miss  C 's. 

The  coldness  of  all  her  friends  and  acquaintances 
signified  nothing  to  her;  her  lover  had,  by  some 
means  or  other,  obtained  so  powerful  a  hold  of  her 
aflfections,  that  sneers,  reproaches,  remonstrances, 
threats  on  the  part  of  all  who  had  previously  be- 
trothed her  to  the  curate,  "  passed  by  her  as  tite  idle 
wind,  which  she  regarded  not."  She  promised  to 
become  his  wife  as  soon  as  his  articles  should  have 
expired,  and  to  live  in  London. 

In  due   time,  as    matters   approached  a   crisis, 
friends   called  in  to  talk  over  preliminaries.     Mr. 

T proved  to  be  comparatively  penniless ;  but 

wiiat  was  that  1   Miss  C acted  with  very  unusual 

generosity.  She  insisted  on  settling  only  half  her 
fortune— and  left  the  other  half  entirely  at  his  disposal ; 
receiving  this  intelligence  from  her  own  lips,  the 
yoimg  man  uttered  the  most  frantic  expressions  of 
gratitude — promised  her  eternal  love  and  faithfulness 


238  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

— protested  that  he  idolized  her — and  took  her  at  her 
word.     It  was  in  vain  that  cautious  relations  stepped 

in  to  tender  their  remonstrances  to  Miss  C ,  on 

the  imprudent  extent  to  which  she  was  placing  her 
fortune  beyond  her  own  control.  Opposition  only 
consolidates  the  resolutions  of  a  woman  whose  mind 
is  once  made  up.  The  generous  creature  believed 
implicitly  every  word  that  her  lover  poured  into  her 
delighted  ear ;  and  was  not  startled  into  any  thing 
like  distrust,  even  when  she  found  that  her  young 
husband  had  expended,  at  one  fell  swoop,  nearly 
3000/.  of  the  5000/.  she  had  so  imprudently  placed 
at  his  disposal,  in  "  establishing  themselves  in  Lon- 
don," as  he  termed  it.  He  commenced  a  rate  of 
living  which  it  required  an  income  of  at  least  1000/. 
a-year  to  support ;  and  when  an  uncle  of  his  wife's 

took  upon  him  to  represent  to  Mr.  T the  ruinous 

extravagance — the  profligate  expenditure  of  his 
wife's  funds — which  all  their  mutual  friends  were 
lamenting  and  reprobating,  he  was  treated  with  an 
insolence  which  for  ever  put  an  end  to  his  inter- 
ference, and  effectually  prevented  that  of  any  other 
party. 
All,  however,  might  yet  have  gone  right,  had  Mr. 

T paid  but  a  moderate  attention  to  business ; 

for  his  father  had  the  command  of  an  excellent  town 
connexion,  which  soon  put  enough  into  his  son's 
hands  to  keep  two  clerks  in  regular  employment. 
His  wife  was  soon  shocked  by  hearing  her  husband 
make  incessant  complaints  of  the  drudgery  of  the 
office,  though  he  did  not  devote,  on  an  average,  more 
than  two  or  three  hours  a-day  to  it.  He  was  always 
proposing  some  new  party,  some  delightful  drive, 
some  enchanting  excursion  to  her;  and  she  dared 
not  refuse,  for  he  had  already  once  disclosed 
symptoms  of  a  most  imperious  temper  whenever 
4ijs  will  was  interfered  with.  She  began  to  grow 
very  uneasy,  as  she  saw  him  drawing  check  after 
check  on  the   banker,  without  once  replacing    a 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  239 

single  sum !  Good  God,  what  was  to  become  of 
them  ■?  He  complained  of  the  tardy  returns  of  busi- 
ness ;  and  yet  he  left  it  altogether  to  the  manage- 
ment of  two  hired  clerks !  He  was  beginning  also 
to  grow  irregular  in  his  hours ;  reiteratedly  kept 
her  waiting  hours  expecting  his  return  to  dinner  in 
vain ;  filled  his  table  with  frequent  drafts  from  the 
gayest  and  most  dissipated  of  his  professional  ac- 
quaintance, whose  uproar,  night  after  night,  alarmed 
every  one  in  the  house,  and  disturbed  the  neigh- 
bours. Then  he  took  to  billiard-playing,  audits 
invariable  concomitants — drinking  and  late  hours ; — 
the  theatres,  frequented  alone  for  the  purpose — alas  ! 
too  notorious  to  escape  even  the  chaste  ears  of  his 
unfortunate  and  insulted  wife — of  mingling  with  the 
low  wretches — the  harpies — who  frequent  the  slips 
and  saloons  ; — then  "  drinking-bouts"  at  taverns — 
and  midnight  "  larks'' — in  company  with  a  set  of 
vulgar,  ignorant  young  fellows,  who  always  left  him 
to  settle  the  reckoning.  He  sent  one  of  the  clerks 
to  his  banker's,  with  a  check  for  10/.  one  morning; 
which  proved  to  be  the  exact  amount  by  which  he 
had  "  overdrawn"  his  account — and  worse — returned 
without  the  usual  accommodation  aflbrded.  He  was 
a  little  dismayed  at  finding  such  to  be  the  state  of 
things,  and  went  up  stairs  to  his  wife  to  tell  her, 

with  a  curse,  of  the  "  meanness" — the   "  d d 

stmginess"  of  Messrs . 

"  What !  Is  it  all  spent,  George  ?"  she  inquired, 
in  a  gentle  and  very  faint  tone  of  voice. 

"  Every  rap — d — ee,  Jane  !"  was  the  reply.  She 
iurned  pale  and  trembled,  while  her  husband,  putting 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  walked  suddenly  to  and  fro 
about  the  parlour.  With  trembling  hesitation,  Mrs. 
T alluded  to  the  near  approach  of  her  confine- 
ment, and  asked,  almost  inaudible  with  agitation, 
and  tlie  fear  of  offending  him,  whether  he  had  madet 
a7iy  provision  for  the  necessary  expenses  attendmg 
it — had  laid  up  any  thin^.     He  repUed  in  the  nega- 


240  PASSAGES    FROM   JIIE 

live,  in  a  very  petulant  tone.  She  could  not  refiain 
from  shedding  tears. 

"  Your  crying  can't  mend  matters,"  said  he,  rudely 
walking  to  the  window,  and  humming  the  words  of 
some  popular  air. 

"  Dear,  dear  George,  have  you  seen  any  thing  in 
my  conduct  to  displease  you  ?"  she  inquired,  wiping 
her  eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  that,  Mrs.  T f  said  he, 

walking  slowly  towards  her,  and  eying  her  very 
sternly.  She  trembled,  and  had  scarcely  breath 
enough  to  answer,  that  she  had  feared  such  might 
have  been  the  case,  because  he  had  become  rather 
cool  towards  her  of  late. 

"  D'ye  mean  to  say,  ma'am,  that  I  have  used  yoii 
ill,  eh  ?    Because  if  you  do,  it's  a  d " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  George,  I  did  not  mean  any  thing  of 
the  kind ;  but — but — kiss  me,  and  say  you  have  for- 
given me — do !"  and  she  rose  and  stepped  towards 
him  with  a  forced  smile.  He  gave  her  his  cheek 
with  an  air  of  sullen  indifference,  and  said,  "  It's  no 
use  blubbering  about  misfortunes,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  The  fact  is,  something  must  be  done,  or, 
d — ee !  /'m  done  !  Look,  here  I  am !  Bring  your 
chair  here,  do !  What  do  you  say  to  these  ?"  He 
pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  crumpled  mass  of  papers 
— bills  which  had  been  sent  in  during  the  week, — 
some  of  them  of  several  months'  standing  :  70/.  were 
due  for  wine  and  spirits ;  90/.  for  articles  of  his 
dress;  35/.  for  the  use  of  a  horse  and  tilbury;  10/. 
for  cigars  and  snuffs  ;  and,  in  short,  the  above  arc  a 
sample  of  the  items  which  swelled  into  the  gross 
amount  of  nearly  300/. — all  due — all  from  creditors 
who  refused  him  longer  credit,  and  all  for  aipticles 
which  had  ministered  nothing  to  his  poor  wife's  com- 
fort or  necessities.  She  burst  into  tears,  as  she 
looked  over  the  bills  scattered  on  the  table,  and 
flinging  her  arms  round  her  husband's  neck,  implored 
Inm  to  pay  more  attention  to  business. 


DIARY    0?    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  241 

"  I  tell  you  I  do,^''  he  replied,  impatiently,  suffer- 
ing, not  returning,  her  aifectionate  embrace. 

"  Well,  dearest  George !  I  don't  mean  to  blame 
you" 

"  You  had  better  not,  indeed !"  he  replied,  coldly  ; 
"  but  what's  to  be  done,  eh  ? — That's  what  we  ought 
to  be  considering.  Do  you  think — hem! — I  am — 
Could  you,  do  you  think — "  He  paused,  and  seemed 
embarrassed. 

"  Could  I  what,  dear  George  ?"  she  inquired, 
squeezing  his  hands. 

"  D'ye  think — D — ee ! — no — I'll  ask  you  some  other 
day !"  and  he  rose  from  his  chair.  What  will  be 
imagined  was  his  request,"? — She  learned  some  days 
afterward,  that  it  was  for  her  to  use  her  influence 
with  her  aunt,  an  old  widow  lady,  to  lend  him  500/. ! 
— To  return,  however. 

He  was  standing  opposite  the  fire,  in  moody  con- 
templation, when  a  rude  puppy,  dressed  in  the  ex- 
treme of  the  fashion,  with  three  different-coloured 
waistcoats  on,  burst  miceremoniously  into  the  par- 
lour, and  disturbed  the  sorrowful  tUe-d-tete  of  T 

and  his  wife,  by  rushing  up  to  the  former,  shaking 
his    hands,    and    exclaiming    boisterously — "Ah! 

T ,  how  d'ye   do,  d — ee  ] — Bill  Bunce's   chaffer 

has  beat ;  he  has,  by  — !  I've  won  15/.  on  it ! 

Oh,  a  thousand  pardons,  ma'am — I  didn't  see  you  ; 
but  tliere's  been  a  great  dog-fight,  you  see,  and  I 

have  been  luckier  than  what  ^Ir.  T here  has,  for 

I've  won  15/.  and  he  has  lost  20/.  1'^ 

This  precious  puppy  was  one  of  T 's  bosom 

friends  ! — Ay,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  it  was  for 
such  Avorthless  fellows,  such  despicable  blockheads 
as  th^se,  that  Mr.  T had  squandered  his  gene- 
rous wife's  property,  and  forsaken  her  company ! 
On  the  present  occasion, — a  sample  of  what  had  oc- 
curred so  often  as  to  cause  no  surprise — nothing  but 

a  gush  of  bitter   tears   after  he  was  gone, — T 

civilly  bade  her  good  morn  in?,  and  departed  arm-in- 
X 


243  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

ann  with  his  "  friend,"  and  did  not  return  till  past 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  almost  dead-drunk. 
Had  he  seen  how  the  remainder  of  the  day  was  spent 
by  his  poor  wife — in  tears  and  terror — unsoothed  by 
the  thought  that  her  husband  was  absent  on  errands 
of  honourable  employment — content  with  making  a 
scanty  dinner  of  that  at  which  the  servant  "  turned 
up  her  nose,"  as  the  phrase  is — and  sitting  the  rest  of 
the  evening  sewing  and  shedding  tears  by  turns,  till 
the  hour  of  midnight  warned  her  to  retire  to  a 
sleepless  bed :  could  he  have  felt  the  hurried  beat- 
ings of  the  heart  whenever  her  wakeful  ear  fancied 
she  heard  the  sound  of  his  approaching  footsteps  on 
the  pavement  beneath  :  could  he  have  done  this,  he 
might  not,  possibly,  on  waking  in  the  moniing,  have 

called  her  a ,  nor  struck  her  on  the  mouth  till 

lier  under-lip  was  half  cut  through,  for  presuming  to 
rouse  him  before  he  had  slept  off  the  fumes  of  the 
brandy,  and  all  he  had  drunk  over  night — in  order 
that  he  might  be  in  trim  for  a  consultation  appointed 
for  eleven  o'clock.  He  did  do  this ;  and  I  was  the 
first  person  on  earth  to  whom  she  reluctantly  told 
it — on  her  deathbed ! 

Though  her  delicate  and  interesting  situation — 
within  a  very  few  weeks  of  her  accouchement — 
might  have  kindled  a  spark  of  tenderness  and  pride 
in  the  bosom  of  any  husband  who  had  not  lost  all 
the  feehngs  of  honour  and  manliness,  it  sufficed,  ap- 
parently, to  inspire  T with  a  determination  to 

treat  her  more  unkindly  and  neglectfully  than  ever. 
She  scarcely  ever  saw  him  during  the  day;  and 
v/hen  he  came  home  at  night — more  than  once  con- 
ducted by  the  watchman — he  was  almost  invariably 
stupified  with  liquor;  and  if  t\e  had  the  power  of 
utterance,  he  seemed  to  take  a  demoniacal  pleasure  in 
venting  upon  her  the  foulest  expressions  which  he 
could  recollect  being  used  i'-y  the  riftrafF  of  the 
taverns  where  he  spent  his  tjfue.  More  than  once 
was  she  so  horrified  with  whr4t  he  said,  that,  at  the 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  243 

peril  of  lier  life,  she  insisted  on  leaving  him,  and 
sharing  the  bed  of  the  servant!  Her  wretched 
looks  might  have  broken  a  heart  of  stone;  yet  it 
affected  not  that  of  the  wretch  who  called  her  his 
wife  ! 

A  few  days  after  the  occuiTence  above  related,  the 
maid-servant  put  a  twopenny-post  letter  into  her 
mistress's  hands;    and  fortunate   it  was   for  Mrs. 

T that  the  girl  happened  to  be  in  the  room  while 

she  read  it,  awaiting  orders  for  dinner.  The  note 
was  in  these  words,  written  in  a  feigned,  but  still  a 
lady's  hand : — 

"  Unfortunate  ^Iadam  ! 

"I  feel  it  my  duty  to  acquaint  you  that  your 

husband,  Mr.  T ,  is  pursuing  quite   disgraceful 

courses  all  night  and  day,  squandering  away  his 
money  among  sharpers  and  blacklegs,  and  that  he  is 
persuaded  to  back  one  of  the  boxers  in  a  great  fight 
that  is  to  be ;  and  above  all,  and  what  I  blush  to  tell 

you, — but  it  is  fitting  Mrs.  T should  know  it, 

in  my  opinion, — Mr.  T is  notoriously  keeping  a 

woman  of  infamous  character,  with  Avhom  he  is 
constantly  seen  at  the  theatres  and  most  other  pubHc 
places,  and  she  passes  as  his  consin.  Hoping  that 
you  will  have  prudence  and  spirit  to  act  in  this 
distressing  business  as  becomes  a  lady  and  a  wife, 
I  am, 

"  Madam, 
"  With  the  truest  respect  and  sympathy, 
"A  Real  Friend." 

Mrs.  T read  this  cruel  letter  in  silence — mo- 
tionless— and  with  a  face  that  whitened  sensibly  as 
she  proceeded  ;  till,  at  the  disgi'accfiil  fact  mentioned 
in  the  concluding  part,  she  dropped  the  paper  from 
her  hands — and  the  servant  ran  to  her  in  time  to 
prevent  her  falling  from  the  chair,  for  she  had 
swooned !    It  was  long  before  she  came  to ;  and 


244  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

when  that  was  the  case,  it  was  only  that  she  mig-ht 
be  carried  to  her  bed — and  she  was  confined  that 
evening.  The  child  was  stillborn !  All  this  came 
on  the  husband  like  a  thunderstroke,  and  shocked 
him  for  a  time  into  something  like  sobriety  and 
compunction.  The  admirable  qualities  of  his  wife 
— her  virtues  and  her  meekness — shone  before  his 
startled  eyes  in  angel  hues.  He  forsook  the  scenes 
a  constant  frequenting  of  which  had  rendered  him 
unworthy  to  live  under  the  same  roof  with  her,  and 
betook  himself  to  the  regular  pursuits  of  business 
with  great  earnestness.  He  soon  found  out  what 
arduous  up-hill  work  it  was  to  bring  again  under  his 
control  affairs  which  had  been  so  long  and  shame- 
fully neglected.  He  felt  several  times  disposed  to 
throw  it  all  over  in  disgust ;  for,  alas !  he  had  lost 
almost  eveiy  vestige  of  the  patience  and  accuracy 
of  business-habits.  He  succeeded,  with  great  diffi- 
culty, in  appeasing  the  more  clamorous  of  his  cred- 
itors, and,  in  a  word,  he  once  more  stood  a  chance 
of  clearing  his  way  before  him.  His  poor  wife, 
however,  was  brought  several  times  to  the  very- 
verge  of  the  grave,  and  was  destined  for  months  to 
the  monotonous  hours  of  a  bed  of  sickness.  For 
nearly  a  month,  she  experienced  the  most  affection- 
ate attentions  from  her  husband,  that  were  consist- 
ent with  a  due  attention  to  the  business  of  his 
office.  She  felt  revived  and  cheered  by  the  prospect 
of  his  renewed  attachment,  and  trusted  in  its  per- 
manency. But,  alas !  her  husband  was  not  made  of 
such  materials  as  warranted  her  expectations;  he 
was  little  else  than  a  compound  of  weakness,  vanity, 
ignorance,  and  ill-temper;  and  for  such  a  one  the 
sober  loveliness  and  attractiveness  of  domestic  life 
had  no  charms.  He  had  no  sooner  got  his  affairs  a 
little  into  train,  and  succeeded  in  reviving  the  confi- 
dence of  some  of  his  principal  clients,  than  he 
began  to  relax  his  efforts.  One  by  one  his  old  as- 
sociates drew  round  him,  and  re-entangled  him  in 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE   PHYSICIAN.  243 

the  toils  of  dissipation.  The  first  time  that  poor  ill- 
fated  Mrs.  T came  down  into  the  parlour  to 

dinner,  after  a  three  months'  absence  in  her  sick- 
chamber,  she  was  doomed  to  dine  alone — disap- 
pointed of  the  promised  presence  of  her  husband  to 
welcome  her — for  the  same  low,  contemptible  cox- 
comb, formerly  introduced  to  the  reader  as  one  of 
her  husband's  most  intimate  friends,  had  called  in 
the  course  of  the  morning-,  and  succeeded  in  enticing 
him  away  to  a  tavern-dinner  with  a  "  set  of  good 
ones,"  who  were  afterward  to  adjourn  to  one  of  the 
minor  theatres.  In  vain  was  the  little  fillet  of  veal, 
ordered  by  her  husband  himself,  placed  on  the  table 
before  his  deserted  wife  ;  she  could  not  taste  it,  nor 
had  strength  enough  to  carve  a  piece  for  the  nurse  ! 

jVIr.  T had  had  the  grace  to  send  her  a  note  of 

apology,  alleging  that  his  absence  was  occasioned  by 
"  an  affair  of  business  !"  This  cniel  and  perfidious 
conduct,  however,  met  with  its  due  punishment. 
One  of  his  principal  creditors — his  tailor — happened 
to  be  swallowing  a  hasty  dinner  in  a  box  adjoining 
the  one  in  which  T and  his  boisterous  asso- 
ciates were  dining,  and  accidentally  cast  eyes  on  his 

debtor  T .     He  saw  and  heard  enough  to  fill  him 

with  fury  ;  for  he  heard  his  omii  name  mentioned  by 
the  half-inebriated  debtor,  as  one  of  the  •'  served-out 
snips'''  whom  he  intended  to  "  do" — an  annunciation 
\vhich  was  received  by  the  gentlemanly  young  men 
who  were  dining  with  him,  with  cries  of  "  Bravo, 

T ,  do  !  D — ee,  I — and  I — and  I — have  done  it 

before  this !" 

The  next  morning  he  was  an^ested  for  a  debt  of 
110/.  at  the  suit  of  the  very  "snip"  whom  he  in- 
tended, in  his  o^vn  witty  way,  to  "  do,"  and  carried 
off  to  a  spunging-house  in  Chancery  Lane.  There 
he  lay  for  two  days  without  his  wife's  knowing  any 
thing  of  the  true  state  of  things.  He  could  get  no 
one  to  stand  bail  for  him,  till  one  of  his  wife's  in- 
sulted friends,  and  his  own  brother-in-law,  came  for- 
X  2 


246  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

■ward  reluctantly  for  that  purpose,  in  order  to  calm 
her  dreadful  agitation,  which  had  flung  her  again  on 
a  sick-bed.  Her  husband  wrote  her  a  most  peniten- 
tial letter  from  the  spunging-house,  imploring  her 
forgiveness  of  his  misconduct,  and  promising  amend- 
ment. Again  she  believed  him,  and  welcomed  him 
home  with  enthusiastic  demonstrations  of  fondness. 
He  himself  could  not  refrain  from  weeping;  he 
sobbed  and  cried  like  a  child  ;  for  his  feelings — what 
with  the  most  pungent  sense  of  disgrace,  and  re- 
morse, and  conscious  un worthiness  of  the  sweet 
creature,  whose  affections  no  misconduct  of  his 
seemed  capable  of  alienating — were  quite  overcome. 
Three  of  his  largest  creditors  commenced  actions 
against  him,  and  nothing  seemed  capable  of  arresting 
the  ruin  now  impending  over  him.  Where  was  he 
to  find  the  means  of  satisfying  their  claims  1  He 
was  in  despair,  and  had  sullenly  and  stupidly  come 
to  a  resolution  to  let  things  take  their  course,  when, 
as  if  Providence  had  determined  to  afford  him  one 
chance  more  of  retrieving  his  circumstances,  the 
sudden  death  of  his  father  put  him  in  possession 
of  300/.  in  ready  cash  ;  and  this  sum,  added  to  200/. 
advanced  him  by  two  of  his  wife's  friends,  who 
could  not  resist  her  agonizing  supplications,  once 
more  set  matters  to  rights. 

Passing  over  an  interval  of  four  years,  spent  with 
disgrace  to  himself,  and  anguish  to  his  wife,  similar 
to  that  described  above,  they  must  now  be  presented 
to  the  reader  occupying,  alas  !  a  lowered  station  of 
society.  They  had  been  compelled  to  relinquish  an 
airy,  respectable,  and  commodious  residence,  for  a 
small,  bad  house,  in  a  worse  neighbourhood.  His 
business  had  dwindled  down  to  what  was  insufficient 
to  occupy  the  time  of  one  solitary  clerk,  whom  he 
was  scarcely  able  to  pay  regularly — and  the  more 
respectable  of  his  friends  had  deserted  him  in 
disgust.     The  most  rigorous — nay,  almost  starving 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHVSICIAX.  247 

— economy  on  the  part  of  his  wife  barely  sufficed 
to  make  both  ends  meet.  She  abridged  herself  of 
almost  every  domestic  comfoit,  of  all  those  little 
elegancies  which  a  well-bred  woman  loves  to  keep 
about  her,  and  did  so  without  a  murmur.  The  little 
income  arising  from  the  5000/.  her  settlement-money, 
might  surely  of  itself,  with  only  ordinary  prudence 
on  his  part,  have  enabled  them  to  maintain  their 
ground  with  something  like  respectability,  especially 
if  he  had  attended  to  what  remained  of  his  business. 
But,  alas !  alas !  T — =-'s  temper  had  by  this  time 
been  thoroughly  and  permanently  soured.  He  hated 
his  good  wife — his  business — his  family — himself — 
every  thing  except  liquor  and  low  company !  His 
features  bore  testimony  to  the  sort  of  life  he  led — 
swelled,  bloated,  and  his  eyes  languid  and  bloodshot. 

Mrs.  T saw  less  of  him  than  ever;  for  not  far 

from  his  house  there  was  a  small  tavern,  frequented 
by  not  the  most  respectable  sort  of  people ;  and  there 

was  T to  be  found,  evening    after   evening, 

smoking  and  drinking  himself  into  a  state  of  stupid 
insensibility,  till  he  would  return  home  redolent  of 
the  insufferable  stench  and  fumes  of  tobacco-smoke 
and  brandy-and-water  I  In  the  daytime  he  was 
often  to  be  found  for  hours  together  at  an  adjoining 
bilhard-room,  where  he  sometimes  lost  sums  of 
money,  which  his  poor  wife  was  obliged  to  make  up 
for  by  parting,  one  by  one,  with  her  little  trinkets 
and  jewelry  !  What  could  have  infatuated  him  to 
pursue  such  a  line  of  conduct  ?  it  may  be  asked. 
Why,  as  if  of  set  purpose,  to  ruin  the  peace  of 
mind  of  one  of  the  fondest  and  most  amiable  wives 
that  ever  man  was  blessed  with]  A  vulgar  but 
forcible  expression  may  explain  all, — it  was  "the 
nature  of  the  beast."  He  had  no  intellectual  plea- 
sures— no  taste  for  the  quiet  enjoyments  of  home ; 
and  had,  above  all,  in  his  wife,  too  sweet,  confiding, 
and  unresisting  a  creature  !  Had  she  proved  a  ter- 
magant, the  aspect  of  things  might  have  been  vei-y 


248  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

different ;  she  might  have  bullied  him  into  something 
like  a  sense  of  propriety.  But  here,  however,  he  had 
it  all  his  own  way — a  poor  creatm'e,  who  allowed 
him  to  break  her  heart  without  remonstrance  or 
reproach;  for  the  first  she  dared  not — the  second 
she  could  not !  It  would  have  melted  a  heart  of 
stone  to  see  her !  She  was  wasted  to  a  skeleton,  and 
in  such  a  weak,  declining  state  of  health,  that  she 
could  scarcely  stir  out  of  doors.  Her  appetite  was 
almost  entirely  gone  ;  her  spirits  all  fled  long  ago  ! 
Now,  shall  I  tell  the  reader  one  immediate  cause  of 
such  physical  exhaustion  ?    I  will,  and  truly.     Mr. 

T had  still  a  tolerable  share  of  business^  but  he 

could  scarcely  be  brought  to  give  more  than  two 
hours'  attendance  in  his  office  a-day,  and  sometimes 
not  even  that.  He  therefore  imprudently  left  almost 
every  thing  to  the  management  of  his  clerk,  a  worthy 
young  man,  but  wholly  incompetent  to  such  a  cliarge. 
He  had  extorted  from  even  his  idle  and  unworthy 
master  frequent  acknowledgments  of  his  obligations 
for  the  punctuality  with  which  he  transacted  all  that 
was  intrusted  to  him,  and,  in  particular,  for  the  neat- 
ness, accuracy,  and  celerity  with  which  he  copied 
drafts  of  pleadings,  leases,  agreements,  &c.  His 
master  often  hiccoughed  to  him  his  astonishment  at 
the  rapidity  with  which  he  "turned  them  out  of 
hand."  Little  did  the  unworthy  fellow  imagine  that 
in  saying  all  this,  he  was  uttering,  not  his  clerk's, 
but  his  wife's  praises !  For  she  it  was,  poor  creature ! 
who,  having  taken  the  pains  to  learn  a  la\vyer's 
hand,  engrossing,  &c.  from  the  clerk,  actually  sat 
up  almost  regularly  till  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  plodding,  occasionally  through  papers  and 
parchments — making  long  and'  laborious  abstracts — 
engrossing  settlements,  indentures,  &c.  and  copying 
pleadings,  till  her  wearied  eyes  and  her  little  hands 
could  no  longer  perform  their  office !  I  could  at  this 
moment  lay  my  hands  on  a  certain  legal  instrument 
of  tiresome  prolixity,  which  was  engrossed,  every 


DIARY    OF    A    LATR  PHYSICIAN.  249 

word,  by  Mrs.  T !     This  was  the  way  iii  which 

his  wife  spent  the  hours  of  midnight,  to  enable  him 
to  squander  away  his  time  and  money  in  the  un- 
worthy, the  infamous  manner  above  related ! 

Was  it  wonderful  that  her  health  and  spirits  were 
wholly  borne  down  by  the  pressure  of  so  many  ac- 
cumulated ills  f  Had  not  her  husband's  eye  been 
dulled,  and  his  perceptions  deadened,  by  the  per- 
petual stupors  of  intoxication,  he  might  have  dis- 
cerned the  hectic  flush — the  coming  fever — the 
blood-spitting,  which  foretel — consumption!  But 
that  was  too  much  to  be  expected.  As  for  the 
evenings — that  part  of  his  day  was  invariably  spent 
at  his  favourite  tavern,  sotting  hour  after  hour  among 
its  lowest  frequenters ;  and  as  for  her  night-cough 
and  blood-spitting,  he  was  lulled  by  liquor  into  too 
profound  a  repose  to  be  roused  by  the  sounds  which 
were,  in  effect,  his  mart>Ted  wife's  death-knell !  If, 
during  the  daytime,  he  was,  in  a  manner,  forced  to 
notice  her  languor — her  drooping  spirits — the  only 
notice,  the  only  sympathy  it  called  forth  on  his  part, 
was  a  cold  and  careless  inquiry,  why  she  did  not 
call  in  a  medical  man !  I  shall  conclude  this  portion 
of  my  narrative  with  barely  reciting  four  instances 

of  that  conduct  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  T 's  husband, 

which  at  last  succeeded  in  breaking  her  heart ;  and 
which,  with  many  other  similar  vices,  were  commu- 
nicated to  me  with  tears  of  tortured  sensibility. 

I.  Half-drunk,  half-sober,  he  one  evening  intro- 
duced to  her,  at  tea,  a  familiar  "  friend,"  whose 
questionable  appearance  might,  at  first  sight,  have 
justified  his  wife's  refusal  to  receive  her.  Her 
conversation  soon  disclosed  her  real  character ;  and 
the  insulted  wife  abruptly  retired  from  the  room  that 
was  polluted  by  the  presence  of  the  infamous  crea- 
ture, whom  he  avowed  to  be  his  mistress !  He  sprung 
after  her  to  the  door,  for  the  purpose  of  dragging 
her  back ;  but  her  sudden  paleness,  and  the  iaint 
tones  in  which  she  wliispered — "Don't  stop  me— 


250  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

don't— or  I  shall  die !"  so  shocked  him,  that  he  al- 
lowed her  to  retire,  and  immediately  dismissed 
the  wretch,  whom  he  could  have  brought  thither  for 
no  other  purpose  than  to  insult  his  wife !  Poor 
creature  !  did  a  portion  of  her  midnight  earnings  go 
towards  the  support  of  the  wretch  who  was  kept  by 
her  husband  ]  Was  not  such  a  consideration  suffi- 
cient to  stab  her  to  the  heart  ? 

II.  Having  occasion,  late  one  evening,  to  rummage 
among  her  husband's  office-papers,  in  search  of 
something  which  was  to  be  engrossed  that  night,  her 
eye  happened  to  light  on  a  document,  with  a  pencil 
superscription — "  Copy,  case  for  coujisel,  concerning 
Mrs.  T '5  marriage-settlementy  A  very  excusa- 
ble curiosity  prompted  her  to  peruse  what  proved  to 
be  a  series  of  queries  submitted  to  counsel,  on  the 
following  points,  among  others:  What  present 
powers  he  had  under  her  marriage-settlement  ? — 
whether  her  own  interest  in  it  could  be  legally  made 
over  to  another,  with  her  consent,  during  her  life- 
time, and  if  so,  how  ? — whether  or  not  he  could  part 
with  the  reversion,  provided  she  did  not  exercise  her 
power  of  willing  it  away  elsewhere  1 — From  all  this, 
was  it  possible  for  her  not  to  see  how  heartlessly  he 
was  calculating  on  the  best  method  of  obtaining 
possession  of  the  remnant  of  her  fortune  1 

"  Oh,  cruel — cruel — cruel  George  !  So  impatient ! 
— Could  you  not  wait  a  month  or  two  1  I'm  sure  I 
shall  not  keep  you  out  of  it  long !  I  always  intended 
to  leave  it  you,  and  I  won't  let  this  alter  my  mind, 

though  it  is  cruel  of  you !"  sobbed  Mrs.  T ,  till 

her  heart  seemed  breaking.  At  that  moment  she 
heard  her  husband's  loud  obstreperous  knock  at  the 
door,  and  hastily  crumpling  up  the  paper  into  the 
drawer  of  the  desk  from  which  she  had  taken  it,  she 
put  out  the  candle,  and  leaving  her  midnight  labours, 
flew  up  stairs  to  bed — to  a  wretched  and  sleepless 
one ! 

III.  Mrs.  T 's  child,  which  was  about  three 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  251 

years  and  a  half  old,  was  suddenly  seized  with 
convulsive  fits,  as  she  was  one  eveninir  undressing 
it  for  bed.  Fit  after  fit  followed  in  such  rapid  suc- 
cession that  the  medical  man  who  was  summoned 
in  prepared  her  to  expect  the  worst.  The  distrac- 
tion of  her  feelings  may  be  easier  conceived  than 
described,  as  she  held  on  her  knee  the  little  creature 
on  whose  life  were  centred  all  the  proud  and  fond 
feelings  of  a  mother's  love,  deepened  into  exclusive 
intensity — for  it  seemed  the  only  object  on  earth  to 
return  her  love ; — as  she  held  it,  1  say,  but  with  great 
difficulty,  for  its  tiny  limbs  were  struggling  and 
plunging  about  in  a  dreadfid  manner.  And  then  the 
frightful  rolling  of  the  eyes  !  They  were  endeav- 
ouring to  pour  a  tea-spoonful  of  Dalby's  carminative, 
or  some  such  medicine,  through  the  closed  teeth, 
when  the  room-door  vv  as  suddenly  thrown  open,  and 

in  reeled  Mr.  T ,  more  than  half-seas  over  with 

liquor,  and  in  a  merrier  mood  than  usual,  for  he  had 
been  successful  at  billiards !  He  had  entered  un- 
observed througi^h  the  street-door,  which  had  been 
left  ajar  by  the  distracted  servant-girl,  and  hearing  a 
bustle  in  the  room,  he  had  entered  for  the  purpose 
of  seeing  what  was  the  matter. 

"Wh — wh — what  is  the  matter,  good  fo — oiks, 
ehl"  he  stammered,  reeling  towards  where  Mrs. 

T Avas  sitting,  almost  fainting  with  terror  at 

seeing  the  frightful  contortions  of  her  infant's  coun- 
tenance. She  saw  him  not,  for  her  eyes  were  fixed 
in  agony  on  the  features  of  her  suffering  babe. 

" AVhat  the — the — the  d — 1  is  the  matter  with  all  of 
you  here,  eh  ?"  he  inquired,  chucking  the  servant- 
girl  imder  the  chin,  who,  much  agitated,  and  shed- 
ding tears,  had  approached  to  beg  he  would  leave  the 
room.  He  tried  to  kiss  her,  and  in  the  presence  of 
the  medical  man — who  sternly  rebuked  him  for  his 
monstrous  conduct. 

"  D — n  you,  sir — who  the  d — 1  are  you  ?''  he  said, 
putting  his  arms  a-kimbo ;  "  I  will  know  what's  the 


252  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

matter!"  He  came  near — he  saw  all! — the  leaden 
hand,  quivering  features,  the  limbs  now  rigid,  and 
struggling  violently,  the  starting  eyeballs. 

"  Why,  for  God's  sake,  what's  the  matter,  eh  1"  he 
stammered,  almost  inaudibly,  while  the  colour  fled 
from  his  face,  and  the  perspiration  started  upon  his 
forehead.  He  strove  to  steady  himself,  but  that  was 
impossible.     He  had  drunk  too  deeply. 

"  What  are  you  doing  to  the  child — what — what  f 
he  again  inquired,  in  a  feeble  and  faltering  voice,  in- 
terrupted by  a  hiccough.     No  notice  whatever  was 

taken  of  him  by ,  who  did  not  seem  to  see  or 

hear  him. — "  Jane,  tell  me,"  addressing  his  wife, 
"  has  the  child  had" — hiccough — "  an — an — ac— *ci — 
dent  T"     The  infant  that  moment  gave  a  sudden  and 

final  plunge  ;  and  Mrs.  T 's  faint  shriek  and  the 

servant-girl's  wringing  of  the  hands  announced  that 
all  was  over !  The  little  thing  lay  dead  in  the  arms 
of  its  mother. 

"  Sir,  your  child  is  dead,"  said  the  apothecary, 

somewhat  sternly,  shaking  Mr.  T by  the  arm — 

for  he  stood  gazing  on  the  scene  with  a  sullen,  vacant 
stare,  scarcely  able  to  steady  himself. 

"  Wh— wh— at !  D—e—a—d  /"  he  muttered. 

"  Oh,  George,  my  darling  is — is  dead !"  groaned 
the  afflicted  mother,  for  the  first  time  looking  at  and 
addressing  her  husband.  The  word  seemed  to  sober 
him  in  an  instant. 

"  What !— Dead  !     And  I  drunk  !" 

The  medical  man  who  stood  by  told  me  he  could 
never  forget  the  scenes  of  that  evening!  When 
Mrs.  T discovered,  by  his  manner,  his  disgrace- 
ful condition,  she  was  so  utterly  overcome  with  her 
feelings  of  mingled  grief,  shame,  and  horror,  that  she 
fell  into  violent  hysterics,  which  lasted  almost  all 

night  long.     As  for  T ,  he  seemed  palsied  all  the 

next  day.  He  sat  alone  during  the  whole  of  the 
next  morning,  in  tlie  room  where  the  dead  infant  lay, 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  253 

gazing  upon  it  with  emotions  which  may  be  imagined, 
but  not  described ! 

IV.  Ahnost  the  only  piece  of  ornamental  furniture, 
her  last  remaining  means  of  amusement  and  conso- 
lation, was  her  piano.  She  played  Avith  great  taste 
and  feeling,  and  many  a  time  contrived  to  make 
sweet  sounds  pour  an  oblivious  charm  over  her  sor- 
rows and  sufferings,  by  v/andering  over  the  airs 
which  she  had  loved  in  happier  days.  Thus  was 
she  engaged  one  afternoon  with  one  of  Dr.  Arne's 
exquisite  compositions,  the  air  beginning,  "Blow, 
blow,  thou  bitter  wind."  She  made  several  attempts 
to  accompany  the  music  with  her  voice — for  she  had 
a  very  sweet  one,  and  could  sing — but,  whenever  she 
attempted,  the  words  seemed  to  choke  her.  There 
was  a  sorrowful  appropriateness  in  them,  a  touching 
echo  of  her  own  feelings,'which  dissolved  her  very 
spirit  within  her.  Her  only  child  had  died,  as  the 
reader  was  informed,  about  six  months  before,  and 
her  husband  had  resumed  his  ill  courses,  becoming 
more  and  more  stern  and  sullen  in  his  demeanour — 
more  unreasonable  in  his  requirements.  The  words 
of  the  air,  as  may  be  easily  conceived,  were  pain- 
fully appropriate  to  her  situation,  and  she  could  not 
help  shedding  tears.  At  that  moinent  her  husband 
entered  the  room,  with  his  hat  on,  and  stood  for 
seme  moments  before  the  fire  in  silence. 

"  Mrs.  T 1"  said  he,  as  soon  as  she  had  con- 
cluded the  last  stanza. 

"  Well,  George  ]"  said  she,  in  a  mild  tone. 

"  I — I  must  sell  that  piano,  ma'am — I  must !"  said 
he. 

"  What !"  exclaimed  his  wife,  in  a  low  whisper, 
turning  round  on  the  music-stool,  and  looking  him 
in  the  face  with  an  air  of  sorrowful  surprise.  "  Oh, 
you  cannot  be  in  earnest,  George !" 

"  Ton  my  life,  ma'am,  but  I  am — I  can't  afford 
you  superfluities  while   we  can  hardly  afford  the 
means  of.  keeping  body  and  soul  together." 
Y 


254  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

"  George — dear  George — do  forgive  me,  but  I — I— - 
I  cannot  part  with  my  poor  piano !"  said  she. 

"  Why  not,  ma'am,  when  /  say  you  must  1" 

"  Oh,  because  it  was  the  gift  of  my  poor  mother !'' 
she  replied,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Can't  help  that,  ma'am — not  I.  It  must  go.  I 
hate  to  hear  its  cursed  noise  in  the  house — it  makes 
me  melancholy — it  does,  ma'am — you're  always 
playing  such  gloomy  music,"  replied  her  husband,  in 
a  severe  and  less  decisive  tone. 

^  Well,  well !  if  that's  all,  I'll  play  any  thing  you 
like — only  tell  me,  dear  George !  what  shall  I  play 
for  you,  now  ]"  said  she,  rising  from  the  music-stool 
and  approaching  him. 

"Play  a  farewell  to  the  piano ;  for  it  must  go,  and 
it  shall  V' 

"  Dear,  kind  George !  let  me  keep  it  a  little  longer," 
said  she,  looking  him  beseechingly  in  the  face — "  a 
little — a  little  longer" — 

"  Well,  ma'am,  sit  down  and  play  away  till  I  come 
in  again,  any  thing  you  like." 

He  left  the  room;  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour— * 
©h,  hardness  of  heart  unheard  of! — returned  with  a 
stranger,  who  proved  to  be  a  furniture  broker,  come 
to  value  the  instrument !  That  evening  it  was  sold 
to  him  for  15/. ;  and  it  was  carried  away  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning,  before  his  wife  came  down 
stairs!    What  will  be  supposed  the  cause  of  this 

cruelty  ?    It  was  to  furnish  Mr.  T with  money 

to  pay  a  bill  of  the  infamous  creature  more  than 
once  alluded  to,  and  who  liad  obtained  a  complete 
ascendency  over  him ! 

It  was  a  long-continued  course  of  such  treatment 
as  this  that  called  me  upon  the  scene,  in  a  profes- 
sional capacity  merely  at  first ;  till  the  mournful 
countenance  of  my  patient  inspired  me  with  feelings 
of  concern  and  friendly  sympathy,  which  eventually 
led  to  an  entire  confidence.  She  came  to  me  in  the 
Maostentatious  character  of  a  morning  patient,  in  a 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  25S 

hackney-coach,  with  an  elderly  female  friend.  She 
looked  quite  the  lady,  though  her  dress  was  of  but 
an  ordinary  quality,  yet  exquisitely  neat  and  clean ; 
and  she  had  still  a  veiy  interesting  and  somewhat 
pretty  face,  though  long-continued  sorrow  had  made 
sad  havoc  with  her  features  !  These  visits,  at  in- 
tervals'of  a  week,  she  paid  me,  and  compelled  me  to 
take  my  fee  of  one  guinea,  on  each  occasion— though 
I  would  have  given  te"o  to  be  enabled  to  decline  it 
without  hurting  her  delicacy.  Though  her  general 
health  had  suffered  severely,  still  i  thought  that 
matters  had  not  gone  quite  so  far  as  to  destroy  all 
hopes  of  recovery,  with  due  attention ; — though  her 
cheeks  disclosed,  almost  every  evening,  the  death- 
rose,  the  grave-flowers  of  hectic,  and  night-sweats 
and  a  faint  cough  were  painfully  regular  in  their 
recurrence,  still  I  saw  nothing,  for  a  long  time,  to 
warrant  me  in  warning  her  of  serious  danger.  I  in- 
sisted on  her  alio  wing  me  to  visit  her  at  her  own  house, 
and  she  at  last  permitted  me,  on  condition  that  I 
would  receive  at  least  half-a-guinea — poor  creature! 
— for  every  visit.  That,  however,  I  soon  dropped; 
and  I  saw  her  almost  every  day  gratuitously,  when- 
ever any  temporary  aggravations  of  her  symptoms 
required  my  attendance.  The  first  time  I  saw  her 
husband  I  could  not  help  taking  a  prejudice  against 
him,  though  she  had  never  breathed  a  syllable  to  me 
of  his  ill  ^conduct.  He  was  apparently  about  forty 
years  old,  though  his  real  age  was  not  more  than  two 
or  three-and- thirty.  His  manners  and  habits  had 
left  a  sufficiently  strong  impress  upon  him  to  enable 
a  casual  beholder  to  form  a  shrewd  conjecture  as  to 
his  character.  His  features,  once  rather  handsome 
than  otherwise,  were  now  reddened  and  swollen  with 
long-continued  excess ;  and  there  was  altogether  an 
air  of  truculence — of  vulgar  assurance  and  stupid  sul- 
lenness  about  him  which  prepossessed  me  strongly 

against  him.     When,  long  afterward,  Mrs.  T 

gave  me  that  description  of  his  appearance  and 


256  PASSAGES    FROM    THE  ; 

manners  under  which  he  is  first  placed  before  the 
reader  of  this  narrative,  I  could  not  help  frequently  ! 
interrupting  her  with  expressions  of  incredulity,  and  i 
remmding  her  of  his  present  ill-favoured  looks  :  but 
as  she  went  on  with  her  sad  story  my  skepticism  van-  1 
ished.  Personal  deterioration  was  no  incredible  ; 
attendant  on  moral  declension  I  1 

March  2Sth,  18 — . — There  can  be  no  longer  any      | 

doubt  as  to  the  nature  of  Mrs.  T 's  symptoms,      i 

She  is  the   destined  victim  of  consumption.     The      ! 
oftener  I  go  to  her  house  the  stronger  are  my  sus- 
picions that  she  is  an  unhappy  woman,  and  that  her      ' 
husband  ill-uses  her.     I  have  many  times  tried  to 
hint  my  suspicions  to  her,  but  she  will  declare 
nothing.     She  witl  not  understand  me.     Her  settled     ,| 
despondency,  however,  accompanied  with  an  undue      : 
current  of  feverish  nervous  trepidation,  which  she      , 
cannot  satisfactorily  explain,  convinces  me  some- 
thing or  other  is  wrong.     I  see  very  little  of  her     i 
husband,  for  he  is  scarcely  ever  in  her  company  when      i 
I  call.     Though  his  business  is  that  of  an  attorney,      | 
and  his  house  and  office  are  one,  I  see  scarcely  any      ; 
indications  of  business  stirring.     I  am  afraid  they      ■ 
are  in  sinking  circumstances.     I  am  sure  that  she,  at      ' 
least,  was  born  and  bred  for  a  higher  station  than  she      j 
now  occupies.     Her  manners  have  that  simplicity,      : 
ease,  and  elegance  which  tell  of  a  higher  rank  in 
society.    I  often  detect  her  alone  in  tears,  over  a     ! 
low  fire.     In  a  word,  I  am  sure  she  is  wretched,  and 
that  her  husband  is  the  cause  of  it.     That  he  keeps     i 
late  hours  I  knozv — for  she  happened  to  let  slip  as      ' 
much  one  day  to  me,  when  I  was  making  inquiries     .' 
about  the  time  of  her  retiring  to  sleep.     I  feel  a 
great  interest  in  her ;  for  whenever  I  see  her,  her 
appearance  reminds  me  of  "Patience  on  a  monu-     ! 
ment,  smiling  at  Grief," —  ; 

"  Sorrow  deck'd  ' 

In  the  poor  faded  garb  of  tarnisli'd  joj', 
111  fitting  to  her  wasted  form." 


DLUIY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  257 

April  5th. — To-day  I  found  them  both  together- 
sitting  one  on  each  side  of  the  fireplace,  he  smok- 
ing— in  the  parlour, — and  she,  with  a  little  flower- 
ing-work in  her  lap.  I  thought  he  seemed  somewhat 
embarrassed  at  my  entrance ;  which  probably  had 
put  an  end  to  some  scene  of  unpleasantness,  for  her 
face  was  suffused  with  crimson.  It  soon  retired, 
however,  and  left  the  wanness  to  which  I  had  been 
accustomed  in  her. 

"  So  my  wife's  ill,  sir,  it  seems,"  said  Mr.  T , 

putting  his  pipe  on  the  hob,  and  addressing  me. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  say  she  is,  -Mr.  T ,"  I  replied, "  and 

that  she  is  worse  to-day  than  she  has  been  for  some 
time." 

Mrs.  T let  fall  tears. 

"  Sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  doctor ;  IVe  just  heen 
telling  her  it's  all  owing  to  her  own  obstinacy  in  not 
calHng  entirely  on ." 

"  I  think  you  might  have  used  a  milder  word,  sir," 
said  I,  with  involuntary  sternness,  at  the  same  time 
directing  my  attention  exclusively  to  his  wife,  as  if 
for  the  purpose  of  hinting  the  propriety  of  his  re- 
tiring. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her,  sir  ?"  he  inquired, 
in  a  more  respectful  tone  than  he  had  hitherto  as- 
smned. 

"  General  debility,  sir,  and  occasional  pain,"  said  I, 
coldly. 

"  What's  it  owing  to  1" 

I  looked  suddenly  at  Mrs.  T ;  our  eyes  met — 

and  hers  had  an  expression  of  apprehension.  I 
determined,  however,  to  give  a  hint  that  I  suspected 
all  was  not  right,  and  replied — "  I  fear  she  does  not 
take  suitable  nourishment — keeps  irregular  hours — 
and  has  something  or  other  in  her  mind  which 
harasses  her."  The  latter  words  I  accompanied 
with  a  steady  look  in  his  face.  He  seemed  a  little 
flushed. 

^'  You're  mistaken,  sir,"  said  he,  with  a  brusque  air ; 
Y2 


258  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

"  she  may  eat  what  she  likes — that  I  can  afford — 
may  go  to  bed  at  what  hour  she  Hkes — and  it's  all 
her  own  fault  that  she  will  sit  moping  over  the  fire 
night  after  night,  and  week  after  week — waiting 
for  my  return — till  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning" — 

"  That  is,  of  itself,  sufficient  to  accoimt  for  her 
illness,"  said  I,  pointedly.  He  began  to  lose  his 
temper,  for  he  saw  the  shameful  acknowledgment  he 
had  imwittingly  made. 

"  Pray,  Mrs.  T ,"  he  inquired,  looking  angrily 

at  his  wife,  who  sat  pale  and  trembling  by  his  side, 
— "  Haxe  you  any  thing  on  your  mind — eh  1 — if  so — 
why — speak  out — no  sneaking !" 

"  No !"  she  stammered ;  "  and  I  never  said  I  had — 
I  assure  you.  Did  I  ever  give  you  even  the  most 
distant  hint  of  the  kind,  doctor  ]"  she  continued,  ap- 
pealing to  me. 

"  By  no  means,  madam, — not  in  the  slightest,  on 
any  occasion,"  I  replied ;  "  it  was  only  a  conjecture 
— a  suspicion  of  my  own."  I  thought  he  looked  as 
if  he  would  have  made  some  instant  reply,  for  his 
eye  glared  furiously  on  me.  He  bit  his  lips,  however, 
and  continued  silent.  His  conscience  "  pricked  him." 
I  began  to  feel  uneasy  about  the  future  quiet  of  Mrs. 

T ,  lest  any  observations  of  mine  should  have 

excited  her  husband's  suspicions  that  she  made 
disclosures  to  me  of  family  matters. 

"  What  would  you  advise  for  her,  sir  V  he  asked, 
coldly. 

"  Removal,  for  a  few  weeks,  to  the  seaside,  a 
liberal  diet,  and  lively  society." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  he,  after  a  puzzled  pause ; 
*'  very  good,  sir — very ;  it  shall  be  attended  to. — 
Perhaps  you  want  to  be  alone — eh  1 — So  I'll  leave 
you!"  and  directing  a  peculiar  look  towards  his 
wife,  as  if  warning  her  against  something  or  other, 
he  left  the  room.  She  burst  into  tears  directly  he 
was  gone. 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  259 

"  My  dear  madam,  forgive  me  for  saying  that  I 
suspect  your  husband's  behaviour  towards  you  is 
somewhat  harsh,  and,  perhaps,  unkind,'''  said  I,  in  as 
soothing  a  tone  as  I  could  command,  and  pressing 
her  hand  kindly  in  mine. 

"  Oh  no,  doctor, — no  I"  she  replied,  adding  in  an 
altered  manner,  indicating  displeasure, "  what  makes 
you  think  so,  sir  V 

"  Why,  madam,  simply  because  I  cannot  shut  my 
eyes  or  my  ears  to  what  passes  even  while  I  am 
here — as,  for  instance — only  just  now,  madam — just 
now." 

She  sighed,  and  made  me  no  reply.  T  told  her  I 
was  in  earnest  in  recommending  the  course  I  had 
mentioned  to  her  husband. 

"  Oh  dear,  doctor,  no,  no, — we  could  not  afford  it," 
said  she,  with  a  sigh.  At  that  moment  her  husband 
returned, — and  resumed  his  former  seat  in  sullen 
silence.     I  soon  after  took  my  departure. 

Jijyril  7th. — Does  not  the  following  make  one  blush 
for  one's  species  1 — I  give  it  merely  as  I  received  it 

from  the  lips  of  ^Irs.  T .     Inestimable  woman  I 

why  are  you  fated  to  endure  such  pangs  ? — 

About  twelve  o'clock  at  noon,  hearing  her  husband 
come  in,  and  thinking  from  his  looks,  of  Avhich  she 
caught  a  casual  and  hasty  glance  through  the  window, 
that  he  was  fatigued,  and  stood  in  need  of  some  re- 
freshment, she  poured  out  a  glass  of  port  wine, 
almost  the  last  in  a  solitary  bottle  which  she  had  pur- 
chased, under  my  directions,  for  medicinal  purposes, 
and,  with  a  biscuit,  brought  it  herself  down  stairs — 
though  the  effort  so  exhausted  her  feeble  frame,  that 
she  was  obliged  to  sit  down  for  several  moments  on 
the  last  stair  to  recover  her  breath.  At  last  she 
ventured  to  knock  at  the  door  of  the  little  back- 
ofRce  where  he  was  sitting,  holding  the  little  waiter 
with  the  glass  of  wine  and  the  biscuit  in  her  left 
hand. 

"  Who's  there  ]"  inquired  the  giuff  voice  of  T . 


260  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

"  It's  only  I,  my  dear.  May  I  come  in,  please  ?" 
replied  the  gentle  voice  of  his  wife. 

"  What  brings  you  here,  eh  ] — What  the  d — 1  do 
you  want  with  me,  now  V  said  he,  surlily. 

"  I've  brought  you  something,  my  dear,"  she  re- 
plied, and  ventured  to  open  the  door.     T was 

sitting  before  some  papers  or  parchments,  alone,  and 
his  countenance  showed  that  he  was  in  a  worse 
humour  than  usual.  So  soon  as  he  saw  her  errand, 
he  suddenly  rose  from  his  chair,  and  exclaiming,  in 
an  angry  tone — "  What  the  — —  brings  you  here  in 
this  way,  plaguing  me  while  engaged  at  business, 

you !  Eh,  woman  ?"    Oh,  my  God  !    In  a  sudden 

fit  of  fury  he  struck  the  waiter,  wine,  biscuit  and  all, 
out  of  her  trembling  hands  to  the  floor,  rudely  pushed 
her  out  of  the  room,  and  slammed  the  door  violently 
in  her  face.  He  did  not  reopen  it,  though  he  could 
not  but  have  heard  her  fall  upon  the  floor,  the  shock 
was  so  sudden  and  violent. 

There,  stretched  across  the  mat,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  staircase,  lay  that  suffering  creature,  unable  to 
rise,  till  her  stifled  sobbings  brought  the  servant-girl 
to  her  assistance. 

"I  can't  help  saying  it's  most  abominable  usage 
of  you,  ma'am ;  it  is — and  I  don't  care  if  master  hears 
me  say  so  neither,"  said  the  girl,  herself  crying ; 
"  for  I'm  sure  he  isn't  worthy  of  the  very  shoes  you 
wear — he  isn't."    She  was  endeavouring  to  lift  her 

mistress,  when  Mrs.  T suddenly  burst  into  a  loud 

unnatural  laugh,  and  went  off  into  violent  hysterics. 

Mr.  T ,  hearing  the  noise  of  talking  and  laughing, 

sprung  to  the  door,  threw  it  open,  and  shouted  to 
them  to  be  "off  with  their  noise — disturbing  busi- 
ness!"— but  the  piteous  spectacle  of  his  prostrate 
wife  stopped  him — and,  almost  petrified  with  horror, 
he  knelt  down  for  the  pui-pose  of  assisting  her  all  he 
could.        *        *        * 

About  an  hour  after  this  occurrence  I  happened  to 
call — and  found  her  lying  in  bed,  alone — her  husband 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  261 

having  left  her  on  business.  When  the  servant  told 
me — and  her  mistress  reluctantly  corroborated  what 
she  said — the  circumstances  above  related,  I  felt  such 
indignation  swelling  my  whole  frame,  that  had  he 
been  within  reach,  I  could  not  have  resisted  caning 
the  scoundrel  within  an  inch  of  his  unworthy  life  ! 
The  recollection  of  this  occurrence  tortures  me  even 
now,  and  I  can  hardly  believe  that  such  brutality  as 
T 's  could  have  been  shown  by  man  ! 

Mrs.T kept  her  room  from  that  hour,  and  never 

left  it  till  she  was  carried  out  for  burial ! — But  this 
is  anticipating. 

April  8th,  9th,  lOth,  llth. — I  see  clearly  that  poor 

Mrs.  T will  never  rise  from  her  bed  again.     She 

has  drained  the  bitter  cup  of  grief  to  the  dregs ! — 
She  is  one  of  the  meekest  sufferers  I  ever  had  for  a 
patient.  She  says  little  to  me,  or  to  any  one  :  and 
shows  a  regard — a  love  for  her  unworthy  husband, 
which,  I  think,  can  be  called  by  no  other  name  than 
absolute  infatuation.  I  have  never  yet  heard  her 
breathe  a  hint  to  his  disadvantage.  He  is  not  much 
with  her ;  and  from  what  little  I  have  seen,  I  feel 
convinced  that  his  eyes  are  opening  to  a  sense  of  the 
flagrant  iniquity  of  his  past  conduct.  And  what  are 
the  effects  produced  by  his  feelings  of  shame  and 
remorse  1  He  endeavours  to  forget  all  in  the  continual 
stupor  induced  by  liquor ! 

April  12th. — Mrs.  T delirious.     Raved  while 

I  was  there  about  her  child — convulsions — said  some- 
thing about  "  cruel  of  Mr.  T to  be  drunk  while 

his  child  lay  dying," — and  said  many  other  things 
which  shocked  me  unutterably,  and  convinced  me 
that  her  primary  disorder  was — a  broken  heart.  I 
am  sure  she  must  have  endured  a  series  of  brutal 
usage  from  her  husband ! 

13^^. — The  whole  house  upside  down — in  dis- 
order and  confusion  from  the  top  to  the  bottom — for 
there  is  an  execution  in  it,  and  the  officers  and  an  ap- 
praiser are  making  an  inventoiy  of  the  furniture  \-^ 


262  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

poor — poor— poor  Mrs.  T lying  all  the  while  on 

her  death-bed ! — The  servant  told  me  afterward,  that 
her  mistress,  hearing  strange  steps  and  voices,  called 
what  was  the  matter ;  and  on  receiving  word  of  the 
real  state  of  matters,  lifted  up  her  hands,  burst  into 
an  agony  of  weeping,  and  prayed  that  the  Almighty 
would  be  pleased  to  remove  her  from  such  a  scene 

of  wretchedness.      T himself,  I  learned,  w^as 

sitting  cowering  over  the  kitchen  fire,  crying  like  a 
child ! — Brute  !  coward  !  fool ! — Such  was  the  state 
of  things  at  the  time  of  my  arrival.  I  was  incon- 
ceivably shocked,  and  hurried  to  Mrs.  T 's  room, 

with  unusual  haste  and  trepidation.  I  found  her  in 
tears — sobbing,  and  exclaiming,  "  Why  won't  they 
let  us  rest  a  little  1 — why  strip  the  house  before  I  am 
gone  1 — can  they  not  wait  a  little  1 — where,  where  is 
Mr.  T r' 

I  could  not  for  several  minutes  speak  myself, — 
for  tears.  At  length  I  succeeded  in  allaying  her  ex- 
citement and  agitation.  At  her  request,  I  sent  for 
the  appraiser  into  her  room.  He  came — and  seemed 
a  respectable  and  feeling  man. 

"  Were  you  bent  upon  stripping  the  house,  sir, 
while  this  lady  is  lying  in  her  present  dangerous 
state  r' 

"  Indeed,  sir,  indeed,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  with 
considerable  emotion — "  I'm  sorry  for  it — very — but 
it  is  my  duty — duty — ordered — "  he  continued,  com- 
posedly ;  "  if  I  had  my  own  way,  sir" — 

"  But  at  least  you  need  not  approach  this  cham- 
ber, sir,"  said  I,  rather  sternly.  He  stammered 
something  like  the  words,  "  obliged — sorry — court 

of  law,"  &c.  &c.     Mrs.  T again  burst  into  an 

agony  of  tears. 

"  Retire,  sir,  for  the  present,"  said  I,  in  an  authori- 
tative tone,  "  and  we  will  send  for  you  soon."  I  then 
entered  into  a  conversation  with  my  poor  persecuted 
patient,  and  she  told  me  of  the  5000/.  settled  to  her 
separate  use,  and  which  she  intended,  under  a  power 


DIARY   OF  A  LATE    PHYSICIAN.  263 

in  the  deed  of  settlement,  to  will  to  her  husband.  I 
spontaneously  promised  to  stand  security  for  the 
satisfaction  of  the  execution,  provided  the  creditors 
would  defer  proceedings  for  three  months.  She 
blessed  me  for  it! — This,  however,  I  afterward 
learned  would  be  illegal,  at  least  so  I  was  told  ;  and 
I  therefore  wrote  a  check  on  my  banker  for  the 
amount  awarded  by  the  court,  and  thus  put  an  end 
to   distress  from  that  quarter. 

At  Mrs.  T 's  request,  I  returned  to  her  bedside 

that  evening.  I  found  a  table,  with  writing  materials 
placed  before  a  chair,  in  which  she  begged  me  to  be 
seated.  She  then  dictated  to  me  her  will — in  which, 
after  deducting  the  sum  I  had  advanced  in  satisfaction 
of  the  execution,  and  leaving  me,  in  addition,  sufficient 
to  purchase  a  plain  mourning-ring,  she  bequeathed  the 
whole  absolutely  and  unreservedly  to  her  husband ; 
and  added,  my  hand  shaking  while  I  wrote  it  down, 
"  hoping  that  he  will  use  it  prudently,  and  not  entirely 
forget  me  when  I  am  gone.  And  if  lie  should — if  he 
should — "  her  utterance  was  choked —  "  and  if  he 
should — marry  again — "  again  she  paused. 

"Dear,  dear  madam!  compose  yourself!  Take 
time!  This  dreadful  agitation  will  accelerate  the 
event  we  are  all  dreading !"  said  I. 

"  No — don't  fear.  I  beg  you  will  go  on !  If  he 
should  marry  again,  may  he  use  her — use  her — No, 
no,  no ! — strike  all  the  last  clause  out !  Give  me 
the  pen  !"  I  did  as  she  directed  me — struck  out  from 
the  words,  "^and  if  he  should,"  &c.,  and  put  the  pen 
into  her  hand.  With  trembling  fingers  she  traced 
the  letters  of  her  name  ;  I  witnessed  it,  and  she  saidr 
"  Now,  is  all  right  ]" — "  Ves,  madam,"  I  replied. 
She  then  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  exclaiming,  "  Oh, 
George  !  George !  this  will  show  you  that,  however 
tired  you  may  have  giown  of  me,  I  have  loved  you 
to  the  end — I  have — I  have !"  She  burst  into  louder 
weeping. 

"  Oh,,  it's  hard,  it's  hard  to  part  with  him,  though 


264  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

he  might — he  might  have  used  me — No !"  she  paused.  ' 
I  suffered  her  excited  feelings  to  grow  calm ;  and 

after  some  time  spent  in  endeavouring  to  soothe  her,  \ 
I  took  my  departure  from  witnessing  one  of  the  most 
heart-breaking  scenes  I  have  ever  encountered.    Her 
husband  could  not  be  prevailed  on  to  enter  her  room 
that  day ;    but  all  night  long,  I  was  told,  he  sat 

outside  the  door,  on  one  of  the  steps  of  the  stairs,  , 
and  more  than  once  startled  her  with  his  sighs. 

April  lith  to  May  6th. — Sinking  rapidly.     I  afiall  i 

be  astonished  if  she  survive  a  week.     She  is..com-  ■ 

paratively  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind,  and  has  availed  j 

herself   of   the  consolations  of   religion  to  some  \ 

purpose.     On  this  day  (May  6th)  <I  succeeded  in^.^-  i 

tracting  from  her  the  facts  which  compose  the  former  ^ 
part  of  this  narrative.     Her  gentle,  palliating  way 

of  telling  it  divested  the  conduct  of  her  husband  of  ; 

almost  all  blameworthiness !     She  would  not  allow  i 

me  to  make  a  harsh  or  condemnatory  comment  all  ' 

the  way  through !     She  blamed  herself  as  she  went  v 

on ;  accused  herself  of  want  of  firmness ;  said  she  j 

was  afraid  Mr.  T had  been  disappointed  iri-  her  i 

disposition;  said  that  if  he  had  done  any  -thing  \ 
wrong,  it  was  owing  to  the  bad  companions  who  liad 
enticed  him  from  the  path  of  duty  into  that  of  dis- 
sipation ;  that  he  had  not  exactly  neglected  her,  or  ; 
wilfully  ill-used  her ;  but — but — she  could  say  nothing  ' 
to  extenuate  his  guilt,  and  I  begged  her  not !  I  left  ; 
her  in  tears  myself.  J 

O  woman!  woman!  woman!      "We  had  been  i 

brutes  without  you,"  and  the  mean  and  miiserable  i 

T Avas  a  brute  with  you !  j 

May  Sth. — Mrs.  T wasted  to  a  shadow ;  all  ] 

the  horrors  of  consumption !    Her  husband,  though  ; 
apparently  broken-hearted,  cannot,  though  probably 

no  one  will  believe  it — he  cannot  refrain  from  fre-  ■ 

quenting  the  public-house!     He  pretends  that  his  ■ 
spirits  are  so  low,  so  oppressed,  that  he  requires  the 

use  of  stimulating  liquors !    Mrs.  T made  me  ; 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  265 

promise  this  morning  that  I  would  see  her  coffin 
closed  ;  and  a  small  locket,  containing  a  portion  of 
her  child's  and  husband's  hair,  placed  next  her 
heart.  I  nodded  acquiescence,  for  my  tongue  refused 
me  words ! 

lOth. — I  was  summoned  this  evening  to  witness 
the  exit  from  our  world  of  one  of  the  sweetest, 
loveliest  spirits,  that  it  was,  and  is,  unworthy  of! 
I  was  not  sent  for  under  the  apprehension  that  her 
eiv9  was  at  hand,  but  on  account  of  some  painful 
sy'm^^ms  which  had  manifested  themselves  since 
my  visit  in  the  morning.  It  was  about  nine  o'clock 
when  I  arrived,  and  found  lier  in  a  flow  of  spirits, 
very  unex-pected  and  unusual  in  her  situation.  Her 
eye  was  bright,  and  she  could  talk  with  a  clearness 
and  rapidity  of  utterance  to  which  she  had  long  been 
a  stranger.  She  told  me  that  she  had  been  awakened 
from  sleep  by  hearing  the  sound  of  sweet  singing — 
which,  I  need  hardly  say,  was  wholly  imaginary. 
She  .was  in  a  very  happy  frame  of  mind ;  but  evi- 
deiifly  in  a"  state  of  dangerous  excitement.  Her 
sottish  husband  was  sitting  opposite  the  fire,  his  face 
eatifely  hid  in  his  hands :  and  he  maintained  a 
stupid  silence,  undisturbed  even  by  my  entrance. 

Mrs.   T thanked  me,  in  almost    enthusiastic 

terms,  for  my  attention  to  her  throughout  her  illness, 
and  regr-etted  that  I  would  not  allow  her  to  testify 
her  sense  of  it  by  leaving  me  a  trifling  legacy. 

"  George — George !"  she  exclaimed,  with  sudden 
and  startling  energ},^ — an  inspiration  of  tone  which 
brought  him  in  an  instant,  with  an  aff'righted  air,  to 
the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  George,  I've  a  message  from  heaven  for  you ! 
Listen — God  Avill  never  bless  you,  unless  you  alter 
your  courses !"  The  man  shrunk  and  trembled 
under  the  scorching,  burning,  overpowering  glance 

of  her  eye.     "  Come,  dearest,  come — Doctor 

will  let  you  sit  beside  me  for  a  few  moments  !''  I 
Z 


266  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

removed,  and  made  way  for  him.  She  clasped  his 
hand  in  hers. 

"  Well,  George,  we  must  part !"  said  she,  closing 
her  eyes,  and  breathing  fast.  The  husband  sobbed 
hke  a  child,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  handkerchief. 
— "  Do  you  forgive  me  ]"  he  murmured,  half-choked 
with  emotion. 

"  Yes,  God  knows  I  do,  from  my  heart !  I  forgive 
all  the  little  you  have  ever  grieved  me  about !" 

"  Oh,  Jane — Jane — Jane  !"  groaned  the  man,  sud- 
denly stooping  over  the  bed,  and  kissing  her  lips  in 
an  apparent  ecstasy.  He  fell  down  on  his  knees, 
and  cried  bitterly. 

"  Rise,  George,  rise,"  said  his  wife,  faintly.  He 
obeyed  her,  and  she  again  clasped  his  hand  in  hers. 

"  George  are  you  there — are  you  ]"  she  inquired, 
in  a  voice  fainter  and  fainter. 

"  Here  I  am,  love  ! — oh,  look  on  me ! — look  on 
me!"  he  sobbed,  gazing  steadily  on  her- features, 
"  Say  once  more  that  you  forgive  me  !  Let  me  hear 
your  dear,  blessed  voice  once  again — or«ror" — 

"  I  DO !  Kiss  me — kiss  me,"  she  murmured,  almost 
inaudibly ;  and  her  unworthy  husband  kissed  away 
the  last  expiring  breath  of  one  of  the  loveliest,  and 
most  injured  women  whose  hearts  have  been  broken 
by  a  husband's  brutality ! 

V2th. — This  evening  I  looked  in  at  the  house  where 
my  late  patient  lay  dead,  for  the  purpose  of  fulfilling' 
my  promise,  and  seeing  her  locket  placed  near  her 
heart,  and  the  coffin  closed.  I  then  went  into  the 
parlour,  where  sat  the  bereaved  husband,  in  company 
with  his  clerk,  who  had,  ever  since  his  engagement^ 

showed  a  deep  regard  and  respect  for  Mrs.  T -, 

After  I  had  sat  some  moments  in  their  company, — 

"  I've  something  on  my  mind,  Mr.  T ,"  said 

the  young  man  Avith  emotion,  "  which  I  shall  not  be 
happy  till  I've  told  you." 

"  What  is  it  ]"  inquired  his  master,  languidl3^ 

"  Do  you  recollect  how  often  you  used  to  praise 


DL\RY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  267 

my  draft-copying,  and  wondered  how  I  got  through 
so  much  work  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  d — n  you,  yes !"  rephed  his  master, 
angrily ;  "  what  have  you  brought  that  up  for  now, 
eh?" 

"  To  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  did  not  deserve  your 
praises" —  ; 

"  Well — well — no  more,"  interrupted  his  master, 
impatiently. 

"  But  I  must,  and  "dinll  tell  you  that  it  was  all  done 

by  poor  Mrs.  T ,who  learned  engrossing,  and  sat 

up  whole  nights  together  writing,  that  you  might  not 
lose  your  business,  till  she  was  nearly  blinded,  poor 
dear  lady !  and  she  would  not  even  let  me  tell  you  ! 
And  I  shall  make  free  to  tell  you,"  contmued  the 
young  man,  rising,  and  bursting  into  tears, — "  I  shall 
make  free  to  tell  you,  that  you  have  behaved  shame- 
fully— brutally  to  her,  and  have  broken  her  poor 
heart — you  have — and  God  will  remember  you  for 
it!" — And  he  left  the  room,  and  never  again  en- 
tered the  Jipuse,  the  scene  of  his  beloved  mistress's 
martyrdom. 

Mr.  T listened  to  all  this  without  uttering  a 

word — his  eyes  dilated — and  he  presently  burst  into 
a  fit  of  loud  and  lamentable  weeping,  which  lasted 
long  after  I  left ;  and  that  evening  he  attempted  to 
commit  suicide,  unable,  like  one  before  him,  to  en- 
dure the  heavy  smitings  of  a  guilty  conscience. 


268  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   SPECTRE-SMITTEN. 

Few  topics  of  medical  literature  have  occasioned 
more  wide  and  contradictory  speculation  than  that 
of  insanity,  with  reference  as  well  to  its  predis- 
posing and  immediate  causes  as  its  best  method  of 
treatment ; — since  experience  is  the  only  substratum 
of  real  knowledge,  the  easiest  and  surest  way  of 
arriving  at  those  general  principles  which  may 
regulate  both  our  pathological  and  therapeutical  re- 
searches,— especially  concerning  the  subtle,  almost 
inscrutable  disorder,  mania — is,  when  one  does  meet 
with  some  striking,  well-marked  case,  to  watch  it 
closely  throughout,  and  be  particularly  anxious  to 
seize  on  all  those  smaller  features,  thos^^jnore  tran- 
sient evanescent  indications  which  are  truer  charac- 
teristics of  the  complaint  than  perhaps  any  other. 
"With  this,  object  did  I  pay  close  attention  to  the  very 
singular  and  affecting  case  detailed  in  the  following 
narrative.  I  have  not  given  the  whole  of  my  obser- 
vations— far  from  it ;  those  only  are  recorded  which 
seemed  to  me  to  have  some  claims  to  the  considera- 
tion of  both  medical  and  general  readers.  The  ap- 
parent eccentricity  of  the  title  will  be  fomid  ac- 
counted for  in  the  course  of  the  narrative. 

Mr.  M ,  as  one  of  a  very  large  party,  had  been 

enjoying  the  splendid  hospitality  of  Lady ,  and 

did  not  leave  till  a  late,  or  rather  early,  hour  in  the 
morning.  Pretty  women,  music,  and  champaign, 
had  almost  turned  his  head  ;  and  it  was  rather  for- 
tunate for  him  that  a  hackney-coach  stand  was  within 
a  stone's  throw  of  the  house  he  was  leavmg.  Muf- 
fling his  cloak  closely  aroimd  him,  he  coutrived  to 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  269 

move  towards  it  in  a  tolerably  direct  line,  and  a  few 
moments'  time  beheld  him  driving,  at  the  usual  snail's 
pace  of  those  rickety  vehicles,  to  Lincoln's-Inn ;  for 
Mr.  M was  a  law  student.  In  spite  of  the  tran- 
sient exhilaration  produced  by  the  scenes  he  had 
just  quitted,  and  the  excitement  consequent  on  the 
prominent  share  he  took  in  an  animated  discussion, 
in  the  presence  of  about  thirty  of  the  most  elegant 
women  that  could  well  be  brought  together,  he  found 
himself  becoming  the  subject  of  a  most  unaccounta- 
ble depression  of  spirits.     Even  while  at  Lady 's, 

he  had  latterly  perceived  himself  talking  often  for 
mere  talking's  sake — the  chain  of  his  thoughts  per- 
petually broken — and  an  impatience  and  irritability 
of  manner  towards  those  whom  he  addressed,  which 
he  readily  resolved  into  the  reaction  following  high 

excitement.      M ,  I  ought  before,   perhaps,  to 

have  mentioned,  was  a  man  of  great  talent,  chiefly, 
however,  imaginative,  and  had  that  evening  been 
particularly  brilliant  on  his  favourite  topic — diablerie 
and  mysticism  ;  towards  which  he  generally  con- 
trived to  incline  every  conversation  in  which  he  bore 
a  part.  He  had  been  dilating,  in  particular,  on  the 
power  which  Mr.  Maturin  had  of  exciting  the  most 
fearful  and  horrific  ideas  in  the  minds  of  his  readers, 
instancing  one  of  his  romances,  the  title  of  which  I 
have  forgotten.  Long  before  he  had  reached  home, 
the  fumes  of  wine  had  evaporated,  and  the  influence 
of  excitement  subsided ;  and  with  reference  to  in- 
toxication, he  was  as  sober  and  calm  as  ever  he 
was  in  his  life.  Why,  he  knew  not,  but  his  heart 
seemed  to  grow  heavier  and  heavier,  and  his  thouglits 
gloomier,  every  step  by  which  he  neared  Lincoln's- 
Inn.  It  struck  three  o'clock  as  he  entered  the  som- 
brous  portals  of  the  ancient  inn  of  court.  The  per- 
fect silence — the  moonlight  shining  sadly  on  the 
dusky  buildings — the  cold  quivering  stars— all  these, 
together,  combined  to  enhance  his  nervousness.  He 
described  it  to  me  as  though  things  seemed  to  wear 
Z3 


270  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

a  strange,  spectral,  supernatural  aspect.  Not  a 
watchman  of  the  inn  was  heard  crymg  the  hour — not 
a  porter  moving — no  living  being  but  himself  visible 
in  the  large  square  he  was  crossing.  As  he  neared 
his  staircase,  he  felt  his  heart  fluttering;  in  short,  he 
felt  under  some  strange,  unaccountable  influence, 
which,  had  he  reflected  a  little,  he  would  have  dis- 
covered to  arise  merely  from  an  excitable  nervous 
temperament,  operating  on  an  imagination  peculiarly- 
attuned  to  sympathize  with  terror.  His  chambers 
lay  on  the  third  floor  of  the  staircase ;  and  on  reacn- 
ing  it,  he  found  his  door-lamp  glimmering  with  its 
last  expiring  ray.  He  opened  his  door,  and  after 
groping  some  time  in  the  dark  of  his  sitting-room, 
found  his  chamber  candlestick.  In  attempting  to  light 
it,  he  put  out  the  lamp.  He  went  down  stairs,  but 
found  that  the  lamp  of  every  landing  had  shared  the 
fate  of  his  own  ;  so  he  returned,  rather  irritated, 
thinking  to  amerce  the  porter  of  his  customary 
Christmas-box  for  his  niggard  supply  of  oil.  After 
some  time  spent  in  the  search,  he  discovered  his 
tinder-box,  and  proceeded  to  strike  a  light.  This 
was  not  the  work  of  a  moment.  And  where  is  the 
bachelor  to  whom  it  is  1  The  potent  spark,  however, 
dropped  at  last  into  the  very  centre  of  the  soft  tinder. 

M blew — it  caught — spread — the  match  quickly 

kindled,  and  he  lighted  his  candle.  He  took  it  in  his 
hand,  and  was  making  for  bed,  when  his  eyes  caught 
a  glimpse  of  an  object  which  brought  him  senseless 
to  the  floor.  The  furniture  of  his  room  was  disposed 
as  when  he  had  left  it ;  for  his  laundress  had  neg- 
lected to  come  and  put  things  in  order ;  the  table, 
with  a  few  books  on  it,  drawn  towards  the  fireplace, 
and  by  its  side  the  ample-cushioned  easy-chair.  The 
first  object  visible,  with  sudden  distinctness,  was  a 
figure  sitting  in  the  arm-chair.  It  was  that  of  a  gen- 
tleman, dressed  in  dark-coloured  clothes,  his  hands, 
white  as  alabaster,  closed  together  over  his  lap,  and 
the  face  looking  away ;  but  it  turned  slowly  towards 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  271 

M ,  revealing  to  him  a  countenance  of  a  ghastly 

hue — the  features  glowing  like  steel  heated  to  a 
white  heat,  and  the  two  eyes  turned  full  towards 
him,  and  blazing — absolutely  blazing — he  described 
it — with  a  most  horrible  lustre.  The  appalling  spec- 
tre, while  M 's  eyes  were  riveted  upon  it,  though 

glazing  fast  with  fright,  slowly  rose  from  its  seat, 
stretched  out  both  its  arms,  and  seemed  approaching 
him,  when  he  fell  down  senseless  on  the  floor,  as  if 
smitten  with  apoplexy.  He  recollected  nothing  more, 
till  he  found  hin]||||lf,  about  the  middle  of  the  next 
day,  in  bed,  his  laundress,  myself,  an  apothecar\%  and 
several  others,  standing  round  him.  His  situation 
was  not  discovered  till  more  than  an  hour  after  he 
had  fallen,  as  nearly  as  could  be  subsequently  ascer- 
tained, nor  would  it  then,  but  for  a  truly  fortunate 
accident.  He  had  neglected  to  close  either  of  his 
outer-doors  (I  believe  it  is  usual  for  chambers  in  the 
inns  of  court  to  have  double  outer-doors),  and  a  wo- 
man, who  happened  to  be  leaving  the  adjoining  set, 

about  five  o'clock,  on  seeing  Mr.  M 's  doors  both 

open  at  such  an  untimely  hour,  was  induced,  by 
feelings  of  curiosity  and  alarm,  to  return  to  the  rooms 
she  had  left  for  a  light,  with  which  she  entered  his 
chambers,  after  having  repeatedly  called  his  name 
without  receiving  any  answer.  What  will  it  be  sup- 
posed had  been  her  occupation  at  such  an  early  hour 
in  the  adjoining  chambers'?    Laying  out  the  corpse 

of  their  occupant,  a  Mr.  T ,  who  had   expired 

about  eight  o'clock  the  preceding  evening ! 

IVIr.  INI had  known  him,  though  not  very  inti- 
mately :  and  there  were  some  painful  circumstances 
attending  his  death,  which,  even  though  on  no  other 

grounds  than  mere  sympathy,  M had  laid  much 

to  heart.  In  addition  to  this,  he  had  been  observed 
by  his  friends  as  being  latterly  the  subject  of  very 
high  excitement,  owing  to  the  successful  prosecu- 
tion of  an  affair  of  great  interest  and  importance. 
We  all  accounted  for  his  present  situation,  by  refer- 


272  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

ring  it  to  some  apoplectic  seizure ;  for  we  were  of 
course  ignorant  of  the  real  occasion,  fright,  which  I 
did  not  learn  till  long  afterward.   The  laundress  told 

me  that  she  found  Mr.  M ,  to  her  great  terror, 

stretched  motionless  along  the  floor,  in  his  cloak  and 
full  dress,  and  with  a  candlestick  lying  beside  him. 
She  at  first  supposed  him  drunk ;  but  on  finding  all 
her  efforts  to  rouse  him  unsuccessful,  and  seeing  his 
fixed  features  and  rigid  frame,  she  hastily  summoned 
to  her  assistance  a  fellow-laundress,  whom  she  had 
left  in  charge  of  the  corpse  next  door,  undressed 
liim,  and  laid  him  on  the  bed.  A  neighbouring  medi- 
cal man  was  then  called  in,  w^ho  pronounced  it  to  be 
a  case  of  epilepsy ;  and  he  was  sufficiently  Avarranted 
by  the  appearance  of  a  little  froth  about  the  lips — 
prolonged  stupor,  resembling  sleep — and  frequent 
convulsions  of  the  most  violent  kind.  The  remedies 
resorted  to  produced  no  alleviation  of  the  symptoms  ; 
and  matters  continued  to  wear  such  a  threatening 
and  alarming  aspect,  that  I  was  summoned  in  by  his 
brother,  and  was  at  his  bedside  by  two  o'clock.  His 
countenance  was  dark  and  highly  intellectual :  its 
lineaments  were  naturally  full  of  power  and  energy ; 
but  now  overclouded  with  an  expression  of  trouble 
and  horror.  He  was  seized  with  a  dreadful  fit  soon 
after  I  had  entered  the  room.  Oh,  it  is  a  piteous 
and  shocking  spectacle  to  see  the  human  frame  sub- 
ject to  such  demoniacal  twitchings  and  contortions, 
which  are  so  sudden — so  irresistible,  as  to  give  the 
idea  of  some  vague,  terrible  exciting  cause,  which 
cannot  be  discovered:  as  though  the  sufferer  lay 
passive  in  the  grasp  of  some  messenger  of  darkness 
"  sent  to  buffet  him.^''* 

*  The  popular  etymology  of  the  word  epilepsy,  sanctioned  by  several 
reputable  class-books  of  the  profession,  which  are  now  lying  before  me, 
— i.  e.  "feiAEI^t?,"  is  totally  erroneous,  and  more— nonsensical.  For 
the  information  of  general  readers,  I  may  state,  that  its  true  derivation  is 
from  Aa///3dvw,  through  its  Ionic  obsolete  form  A>;/Jcu  :  whence  f-/-AHiii? 
— a  "seizing,"  a  "  holding  fast."  Therefore  we  speak  cf  an  attack  of 
epilepsy.  This  etymology  is  highly  descriptive  of  the  disease  in  question  ; 
for  the  suddenproatration,  rigidity,  contortious,.«kc.  of  thepaiiem,  strongly 


DllRY   OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  273 

M was  a  very  powerful  man  ;  and  during  the 

fits  it  was  next  to  impossible  for  all  present,  united, 
to  control  his  movements.  The  foam  at  his  mouth 
suggested  to  his  terrified  brother  the  harrowing  sus- 
picion that  the  case  was  one  of  hydrophobia.  None 
of  my  remonstrances  or  assurances  to  the  contrary 
sufficed  to  quiet  him,  and  his  distress  added  to  the 
confusion  of  the  scene.  After  prescribing  to  the  best 
of  my  ability,  I  left,  considermg  the  case  to  be  one 
of  simple  epilepsy.  During  the  rest  of  the  day  and 
night,  the  fits  abated  both  in  violence  and  frequency; 
but  lie  was  left  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  exhaustion, 
from  which,  however,  he  seemed  to  be  rapidly  re- 
covering, during  the  space  of  the  four  succeeding 
days ;  when  I  was  suddenly  summoned  to  his  bed- 
side, which  I  had  left  only  two  hours  before,  with 
the  intelligence  that  he  had  disclosed  symptoms  of 
more  alarming  illness  than  ever.  I  hurried  to  his 
chambers,  and  found  that  the  danger  had  not  been 
magnified.  One  of  his  friends  met  me  on  the  stair- 
case, and  told  me  that  about  half  an  hour  before, 

'vhile  he  and  Mr.  C ^l ,  the  patient's  brother, 

were  sitting  beside  him,  he  suddenly  turned  to  the 
latter,  and  inquired,  in  a  tone  full  of  apprehension 
and  terror—"  Is  Mr.  T dead  ]*' 

"  Oh  dear,  yes — he  died  several  days  ago" — was 
the  reply. 

"  Then  it  was  he" — he  gasped — "it  Avas  he  whom  I 

suggest  the  idea  that  he  has  been  taken  or  seized  (cViAr/^o-a?)  by,  as  it 
■were,  some  external  invisible  agent. — It  is  worthy  of  notice,  by-the-way, 
that  i-iXrj-TiKdi  is  used  by  ecclesiastical  writers  to  denote  a  person  pos- 
sessed by  a  demon.  'E-ActiXtj,  signifies  simply  ■"  failure,  deficiency." 
I  shall  conclude  this  note  with  a  practical  illustration  of  the  necessity 
•which  calls  it  forth— the  correction  of  a  prevalent  error.  A  flippant  stu- 
dent, who,  I  was  given  to  understand,  plumed  himself  much  among  his 
companions  on  his  Greek,  was  suddenly  asked  by  one  of  his  examiners 
for  a  definition  of  epilepsy,  grounded  on  its  etymologj'.  I  forget  the  defini- 
tion, which  was  given  with  infinite  self-sufficiency  of  tone  and  manner ; 
but  the  fine  trick  of  scholarship  with  which  it  was  finished  off  I  well 
recollect : — "  From  i-jXtiv^  j; — (hi-Xei-ru) — I  fail,  am  wanting) ;  there- 
fore, sir,  epilepsy  is  a  failure  of  animal  functions ! ."' — The  same  sag© 
definition  is  regularly  given  by  a  well-known  metropolitan  lecturer  I 


274  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

saw,  and  he  is  surely — damned! — Yes,  merciful 
Maker ! — he  is  ! — he  is !" — he  continued,  elevating  his 
voice  to  a  perfect  roar — "  and  the  flames  have  re- 
duced his  face  to  ashes! — Horror!  horror!  horror!" — 
He  then  shut  his  eyes,  and  relapsed  into  silence  for 
about  ten  minutes  :  when  he  exclaimed — "  Hark  you, 
there — secure  me !  tie  me  !  make  me  fast,  or  I  shall 
burst  upon  you  and  destroy  you  all — for  I  'm  going- 
mad — I  feel  it !" — He  ceased,  and  commenced  breath- 
ing fast  and  heavily — his  chest  heaving  as  though 
under  the  pressure  of  enormous  weight ;  and  his 
swelling,  quivering  features,  evidencing  the  dreadful 
uproar  within.  Presently  he  began  to  grind  his  teeth, 
and  his  expanded  eyes  glared  about  in  all  directions, 
as  though  following  the  motions  of  some  frightful  ob- 
ject, and  muttering  fiercely  through  his  closed  teeth — 
"  O  save  me  from  him — save  me — save  me !" — It  was 
a  fearful  thing  to  see  him  lying  in  such  a  state — grind- 
ing his  teeth  as  though  he  would  crush  them  to 
powder — his  livid  lips  crested  with  foam — his  fea- 
tures swollen — writhing — blackening  ;  and,  which 
gave  his  face  a  peculiarly  horrible  and  fiendish  ex- 
pression, his  eyes  distorted  or  inverted  upwards,  so 
that  nothing  but  the  glaring  whites  of  them  could  be 
seen — his  whole  frame  rigid — and  his  hands  clenched, 
as  though  they  would  never  open  again! — It  is  a 
dreadful  tax  on  one's  nerves  to  have  to  encounter 
such  objects,  familiar  though  medical  men  are  with 
such  and  similar  spectacles ;  and  in  the  present  in- 
stance, every  one  round  the  bedside  of  the  unfortu- 
nate patient  stood  trembling  with  pale  and  moment- 
arily-averted faces.  The  ghastly,  fixed,  up-turning 
of  the  eyes  in  epileptic  patients  fills  me  with  horror 
whenever  I  recall  their  image  to  ray  mind  ! 

The  return  of  these  epileptic  fits,  in  such  violence, 
and  after  such  an  interval,  alarmed  me  with  appre- 
hensions, lest,  as  is  not  unfrequently  the  case,  apo- 
plexy should  supervene,  or  even  ultimate  insanity. 
It  was  rather  singular  that  M was  never  known 


DIARY   OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  275 

to  have  had  an  epileptic  fit  previous  to  the  present 
seizure,  and  he  was  then  in  his  twenty-fifth  year.  I 
was  conjecturing  what  sudden  fright  or  blow,  or  ac- 
cident of  any  kind,  or  congestion  of  the  vessels  of 
the  brain  from  frequent  inebriation,  could  have 
brought  on  the  present  fit— when  my  patient,  whose 
features  had  gi-adually  sunk  again  into  their  natural 
disposition,  gave  a  sigh  of  exhaustion — the  perspira- 
tion burst  forth,  and  he  murmured — some  time  before 
we  could  distinctly  catch  the  words — "  Oh — spectre- 
smitten  !  —  spectre-smitten  !"  —  which  expression  I 
have  adopted  as  the  title  of  this  paper — "  I  shall  never 
recover  again !" — Though  suiRciently  surprised  and 
perplexed  about  the  import  of  the  words,  we  took 
no  notice  of  them ;  but  endeavoured  to  divert  his 
thoughts  from  the  fantasy,  if  such  there  were,  which 
seemed  to  possess  them,  by  inquiring  into  the  nature 
of  his  symptoms.  He  disregarded  us,  however;  fee- 
bly grasped  my  hand  in  his  clammy  fingers,  and 
looking  at  me  languidly,  muttered — "  What — Oh, 
what  brought  the  fiend  into  my  chambers  V — and  I 

felt  his  whole  frame  shiver — "  Poor  T !    Horrid 

fate  !" — On  hearing  him  mention  T 's  name,  we 

all  looked  simultaneously  at  one  another,  but  with- 
out speaking ;  for  a  suspicion  crossed  our  minds, 
that  his  highly-wrought  feelings,  acting  on  a  strong 
imagination,  always  tainted  with  supeistitious  ter- 
rors, had  conjured  up  some  hideous  object,  which  had 
scared  him  nearly  to  madness — probably  some  fan- 
cied apparition  of  his  deceased  neighbour.  He  began 
again  to  utter  long  deep-drawn  groans,  that  gradually 
gave  place  to  the  heavy  stertorous  breathing  which, 
with  other  symptoms — his  pulse, -for  instance,  beat- 
ing about  115  a-minute — confirmed  me  in  the  opinion 
that  he  was  suffering  from  a  very  severe  congestion 
of  the  vessels  of  the  brain.  I  directed  copious  vene- 
section— his  head  to  be  shaven,  and  covered  perpetu- 
ally with  cloths  soaked  in  evaporating  lotions — and 
)}listers  behind  his  ears,  and  at  the  nape  of  the  neck 


276  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

— and  appropriate  internal  medicines.  I  then  left 
him,  apprehending  the  worst  consequences  :  for  I 
had  once  before  a  similar  case  under  my  care — one 
in  which  a  young  lady  was,  which  I  strongly  sus- 
pected to  be  the  case  with  M ,  absolutely  fright- 
ened to  death,  and  went  through  nearly  the  same 
round  of  symptoms  as  were  beginning  to  make  their 
appearance  in  my  present  patient:  a  sudden  epileptic 
seizure,  terminating  in  outrageous  madness,  which: 
destroyed  both  the  physical  and  intellectual  energies, 
and  the  young  lady  expired.  I  may  possibly  here- 
after prepare  for  publication  some  of  my  notes  of  her 
case,  which  had  some  very  remarkable  features. 
The  next  morning,  about  eleven,  saw  me  again  at 

Mr.  M 's  chambers,  where  I  found  three  or  four 

members  of  his  family — two  of  them  his  married 
sisters — seated  round  his  sitting-room  fire,  in  melan- 
choly silence.     Mr. ,  the  apothecary,  had  just 

left,  but  was  expected  to  return  every  moment,  to 
meet  me  in  consultation.  My  patient  lay  alone  in 
his  bed-room  asleep,  and  apparently  better  than  he 
had  been  since  his  first  seizure.  He  had  had  only 
one  slight  fit  during  the  night;  and  though  he  had 
been  a  little  delirious  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  eve- 
ning, he  had  been  on  the  whole  so  calm  and  quiet, 
that  his  friends'  apprehensions  of  insanity  were  be- 
ginning to  subside ;  so  he  was  left,  as  I  said,  alone; 
for  the  nurse,  just  before  my  arrival,  had  left  her 
seat  by  his  bedside  for  a  few  moments,  thinking  him 
"  in  a  comfortable  and  easy  nap,"  and  was  engaged, 
in  a  low  whisper,  conversing  with  the  members  of 
M 's  family  who  were  in  the  sitting-room.  Hear- 
ing such  a  report  of  my  patient,  I  sat  down  quietly 
among  his  relations,  determining  not  to  disturb  him, 
at  least  till  the  arrival  of  the  apothecary.  Thus 
were  we  engaged,  questioning  the  nurse  in  an  under- 
tone, when  a  loud  laugh  from  the  bed-room  suddenly 
silenced  our  whisperings,  and  turned  us  all  pale.  We 
started  to  our  feet,  with  blank  amazement  in  each 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  277 

countenance,  scarcely  crediting  tlie  evidence  of  our 

senses.     Could  it  be  M 1    It  must;   there  was 

none  else  in  the  room.    What,  then,  was  he  laughing 
about  ? 

While  we  were  standing  silently  gazing  on  one 
another  with  much  agitation,  the  laugh  was  re- 
peated, but  longer  and  louder  than  before,  accom- 
panied with  the  sound  of  footsteps,  now  crossing  the 
room — then,  as  of  one  jumping!  The  ladies  turned 
paler  than  before,  and  seemed  scarcely  able  to  stand. 
They  sunk  again  into  their  chairs,  gasping  with  ter- 
ror. "  Go  in,  nurse,  and  see  what's  the  matter," 
said  I,  standing  by  the  side  of  the  younger  of  the 
ladies,  whom  I  expected  every  instant  to  fall  into  my 
arms  in  a  swoon. 

"Doctor! — go  in? — I — I — I  dare  not!"  stammered 
the  nurse,  pale  as  ashes,  and  trembling  violently. 

"  Do  you  come  here,  then,  and  attend  to  Mrs. ," 

said  I,  "  and  I  will  go  in."  The  nurse  staggered  to 
my  place,  in  a  state  not  far  removed  from  that  of  the 
lady  whom  she  was  called  to  attend ;  for  a  third 
laugh, — long,  loud,  uproarious, — had  burst  from  the 
room  while  I  was  speaking.  After  cautioning  the 
ladies  and  the  nurse  to  observe  profound  silence,  and 
not  to  attempt  following  me  till  I  sent  for  them,  I 
stepped  noiselessly  to  the  bed-room  door,  and  opened 
it  slowly  and  softly,  not  to  alarm  him.  All  was 
silent  within;  but  "the  first  object  that  presented 
itself  when  I  saw  fairly  into  the  room,  can  never  be 
effaced  from  my  mind  to  the  day  of  my  death.     ;Mr. 

INI had  got  out  of  bed,  pulled  oft'  his  shirt,  and 

stepped  to  the  dressing-table,  where  he  stood  stark- 
naked  before  the  glass,  with  a  razor  in  his  right 
hand,  with  which  he  had  just  finished  shaving  off  his 
eyebrows ;  and  he  was  eying  himself  steadfastl}-  in 
the  glass,  holding  the  razor  elevated  above  his  head. 
On  seeing  the  door  open  and  my  face  peering  at  him, 
he  turned  full  towards  me — (the  grotesque  aspect  of 
his  countenance  denuded  of  so  prominent  a  feature 
Aa 


278  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

as  the  eyebrows,  and  his  head  completely  shaved, 
and  the  wildfire  of  madness  flashing-  from  his  staring 
eyes,  exciting  the  most  frightful  ideas) — brandishing 
the  razor  over  his  head  with  an  air  of  triumph,  and 
shouting  nearly  at  the  top  of  his  voice — "Ah,  ha,  ha! 
—What  do  you  think  of  this  ?" 

Merciful  Powers  !  May  I  never  be  placed  again  in 
such  perilous  circumstances,  nor  have  my  mind  over- 
whelmed with  such  a  gush  of  horror  as  burst  over  it 
at  that  moment ! .  What  was  1  to  do  ?  Obeying  a  sud- 
den impulse  I  had  entered  the  room,  shutting  the  door 
after  me ;  and  should  any  one  in  the  sitting-room 
suddenly  attempt  to  open  it  again,  or  make  a  noise 
or  disturbance  of  any  kind,  by  giving  vent  to  their 
emotions,  what  was  to  become  of  the  madman  or 
ourselves  1  He  might,  in  an  instant,  almost  sever 
his  head  from  his  shoulders,  or  burst  upon  me  or  his 
sisters,  and  do  us  some  deadly  mischief!  I  felt  con- 
scious that  the  lives  of  all  of  us  depended  on  my 
conduct ;  and  I  do  devoutly  thank  God  for  the  mea- 
sure of  tolerable  self-possession  which  was  vouch- 
safed me  at  that  dreadful  moment.  I  continued 
standing  like  a  statue — motionless — silent — endea- 
vouring to  fix  my  eye  on  him,  that  I  might  gain  the 
command  of  his ;  that  successful,  I  had  some  hopes 
of  being  able  to  deal  with  liim.  He,  in  turn,  now 
stood  speechless — and  I  thought  he  was  quailing — 
that  I  had  over-mastered  him — when  I  was  suddenly 
fit  to  faint  with  despair — for  at  that  awful  instant  I 
heard  the  door-handle  tried — the  door  pushed  gently 
open — and  the  nurse,  I  supposed — or  one  of  the  ladies 
— peeping  through  it.  The  maniac  also  heard  it — 
the  spell  was  broken — and,  in  a  phrensy,  he  leaped 
several  times  successively  in  the  air,  brandishing  the 
razor  over  his  head  as  before. 

While  he  was  in  the  midst  of  these  feats,  I  turned 
my  head  hurriedly  to  the  person  who  had  so  shanie- 
fully  disobeyed  my  orders,  and  thereby  jeopardied 
my  life— whispered  in  low,  affiighted  accents — "  At 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  279 

the  peril  of  your  lives— of  mine — shut  the  door,  away 
— away,  hush!  or  we  are  all  murdered!"  I  was 
obeyed — the  intruder  withdrew,  and  I  heard  a  sound 
as  if  she  had  fallen  to  the  floor — probably  in  a  swoon. 
Fortunately  the  madman  was  so  occupied  with  his 
antics,  that  he  did  not  observe  what  had  passed  at 
the  door.  It  was  the  nurse  who  made  the  attempt 
to  discover  what  was  going  on,  I  afterward  learned — 
but  unsuccessfully,  for  she  had  seen  nothing.  My 
injunctions  were  obeyed  to  the  letter,  for  they  main- 
tained a  profound  silence,  unbroken  but  by  a  faint 
sighing  sound,  which  I  should  not  have  heard,  but 
that  my  ears  were  painfully  sensitive  to  the  slightest 
noise.  But  to  retmn  to  myself  and  my  fearful  cham- 
ber companion. 

"Mighty  talisman!"  he  exclaimed,  holding  the 
razor  before  liim,  and  gazing  earnestly  at  it,  "  how 
utterly  unworthy — how  infamous  the  common  use 
men  put  thee  to  V'  Still  he  continued  standing,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  the  deadly  weapon — I 
all  the  while  uttering  not  a  sound,  nor  moving  a 
muscle,  but  waiting  for  our  eyes  to  meet  once  more. 

"  Ha — Doctor ! — How  easily  I  keep  you  at 

bay,  though  little  my  weapon — thus'' — he  exclaimed 
gayly,  at  the  same  time  assuming  one  of  the  postures 
of  the  broadsword  exercise — but  I  observed  that  he 
cautiously  avoided  meeting  my  eyes  again.  I  crossed 
ray  arms  submissively  on  my  breast,  and  continued 
in  perfect  silence,  endeavouring,  but  in  vain,  to  catch 
a  glance  of  his  eye.  I  did  not  wish  to  excite  any 
emotion  in  him,  except  such  as  might  have  a  ten- 
dency to  calm,  pacify,  disarm  him.  Seeing  me  stand 
thus,  and  manifesting  no  disposition  to  meddle  with 
liim,  he  raised  his  left  hand  to  his  face,  and  rubbed 
his  fingers  rapidly  over  the  site  of  his  shaved  eye- 
brows. He  seemed,  I  thought,  inclined  to  go  over 
them  a  second  time,  wlien  a  knock  was  heard  at  the 
outer  chamber-door,  which  I  instantly  recognised  as 
that  of  Mr. the  apothecary.    The  madinan  also 


280  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

heard  it,  turned  suddenly  pale,  and  moved  away  from 
the  glass  opposite  which  he  had  been  stooping.  "  Oh 
— oh  !"  he  gioaned,  while  his  features  assumed  an 
air  of  the  blankest  affright,  every  muscle  quivering,  and 
every  limb  trembling  from  head  to  foot.     "  Is  that — 

is — is  that  T come  for  me  ]"   He  let  fall  the  razor 

on  the  floor,  and  clasping  his  hands  in  an  agony  of, 
apprehension,  he  retreated,  crouching  and  cowering 
down,  towards  the  more  distant  part  of  the  room, 
where  he  continued  peering  round  the  bedpost,  his 
eyes  straining  as  though  they  would  start  from  their 
sockets,  and  fixed  steadfastly  upon  the  door.  I  heard 
him  rustling  the  bed-curtain,  and  shaking  it ;  but  veiy 
gently,  as  if  wishing  to  cover  and  conceal  himself 
within  its  folds. 

Oh,  humanity ! — Was  that  poor  being — that  silly, 
slavering  idiot — was  that  the  once  gay,  gifted,  bril- 
liant M 1 

To  return.  My  attention  was  wholly  occupied 
with  one  object,  the  razor  on  the  floor.  How  I 
thanked  God  for  the  gleam  of  hope  that  all  might 
yet  be  right — that  I  might  succeed  in  obtaining  pos- 
session of  the  deadly  weapon,  and  putting  it  beyond 
his  reach!  But  how  was  I  to  do  all  this?  I  stole 
gradually  towards  the  spot  where  the  razor  lay,  with- 
out removing  once  my  eye  from  his,  nor  he  his  from 
the  dreaded  door,  intending,  as  soon  as  I  should  have 
come  pretty  near  it,  to  make  a  sudden  snatch  at 
the  horrid  implement  of  destruction.  I  did — I  suc- 
ceeded— I  got  it  into  my  possession,  scarcely  credit- 
ing my  senses.  I  had  hardly  grasped  my  prize,  when 
the  door  opened,  and  Mr. the  apothecary  en- 
tered, sufficiently  startled  and  bewildered,  as  it  may 
be  supposed,  with  the  strange  aspect  of  things. 

"  Ha — ha — ha !  It's  you,  is  it — it's  you — you  ana- 
tomy !  You  plaster !  How  dare  you  mock  me  in  this 
hoiTid  way,  eh  ]"  shouted  the  maniac,  and  springing 
like  a  lion  from  his  lair,  he  made  for  the  spot  where 
the  confounded  apothecary  stood,  stupifiied  with  ter- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICUN.  281 

ror.  I  verily  believe  he  would  have  been  destroyed, 
torn  to  pieces,  or  cruelly  maltreated  in  some  way  or 
other,  had  I  not  started  and  thrown  myself  between 
him  and  the  unwitting  object  of  his  vengeance,  ex- 
claiming at  the  same  time,  as  a  dernier  resort,  a  sud- 
den and  strong  appeal  to  his  fears — "  Remember ! — 

T !  T !  T !" 

"  I  do — I — do !"  stammered  the  maniac,  stepping 
back,  perfectly  aghast.  He  seemed  utterly  petrified, 
and  sunk  shivering  down  again  into  his  former  posi- 
tion at  the  corner  of  the  bed,  moaning — "  Oh  me ! 
wretched  me!  Away — away — away!"  I  then  stepped 

to  Mr. ,  who  had  not  moved  an  inch,  directed 

him  to  retire  instantly,  conduct  all  the  females  out 
of  the  chambers,  and  return  immediately  with  two 
or  three  of  the  inn-porters,  or  any  other  able-bodied 
men  he  could  procure  on  the  spur  of  the  moment ; 
and  I  concluded  by  slipping  the  razor  unobservedly, 
as  I  thought,  into  his  hands,  and  bidding  him  remove 
it  to  a  place  of  safety.  He  obeyed,  and  I  found  my- 
self once  more  alone  with  the  madman. 

"  M !   dear  Mr.  M !  I've  got  something  to 

say  to  you — I  have,  indeed ;  it's  very — very  particu- 
lar." I  commenced,  approaching  him  slowly,  and 
speaking  in  the  softest  tones  conceivable. 

"  But  you've  forgotten  this,  you  fool,  you  ! — you 
have !"  he  replied,  fiercely,  approaching  the  dressing- 
table,  and  suddenly  seizing  another  razor — the  fellow 
of  the  one  I  had  got  hold  of  with  such  pains  and 
peril — and  which,  alas,  alas !  had  never  once  caught 
my  eye  !  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost,  fully  expecting 
that  I  should  be  murdered,  when  I  saw  the  blood- 
thirsty spirit  with  which  he  clutched  it,  brandished  it 
over  his  head,  and  with  a  smile  of  fiendish  derision, 
shook  it  full  before  me  !  I  trembled,  however,  the 
next  moment,  for  himself,  for  he  drew  it  rapidly  to 
and  fro  before  his  throat,  as  though  he  would  give 
the  fatal  gash,  but  did  not  touch  the  skin.  He 
gnashed  his  teeth  with  a  kind  of  savage  satisfaction 
Aa2 


282  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

at  the  dreadful  power  with  which  he  was  consciously 
armed. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  M !  think  of  your  poor  mother  and 

sisters !"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  sorrowful  tone,  my  voice 
faltering  with  uncontrollable  agitation.  He  shook 
the  razor  again  before  me  with  an  air  of  defiance, 
and  really  "  grinned  horribly  a  ghastly  smile." 

"  Now  suppose  I  choose  to  finish  your  perfidy,  you 
wretch !  and  do  what  you  dread,  eh  ]"  said  he,  hold- 
ing the  razor  as  if  he  was  going  to  cut  his  throat. 

"  Why,  wouldn't  it  be  nobler  to  forgive  and  forget, 

Mr.  M ]"  I  replied,  with  tolerable  firmness,  and 

folding  my  arms  on  my  breast,  anxious  to  appear 
quite  at  ease. 

"Too — too — too,  doctor !  Too — too — too ! — Ha,  by- 
the-M^ay  ! — What  do  you  say  to  a  razor  hornpipe — 
eh"? — Ha,  ha,  ha — a  novelty,  at  least!"  He  began 
forthwith  to  dance  a  few  steps,  leaping  frantically 
high,  and  uttering  at  intervals  a  sudden,  shrill,  disso- 
nant cry,  resembling  that  used  by  those  who  dance 
the  Highland  "  fling,"  or  some  other  species  of  Scot- 
tish dance.  I  affected  to  admire  his  dancing,  even 
to  ecstasy — clapping  my  hands,  and  shouting, "  Bravo, 
bravo  ! — Encore !"  He  seemed  inclined  to  go  over 
it  again,  but  was  too  much  exhausted,  and  sat  down 
panting  on  the  window-seat,  which  was  close  behind 
him. 

"You'll  catch  cold,  Mr.  M ,  sitting  in  that 

draught  of  air  naked,  and  perspiring  as  you  are. 
Will  you  put  on  your  clothes  ]"  said  I,  approaching 
him. 

"  No  !"  he  replied,  sternly,  and  extending  the  razor 
threateningly.  I  fell  back,  of  course — not  knowing 
what  to  do,  nor  choosing  to  risk  either  his  destruc- 
tion or  my  own  by  attempting  any  active  interfe- 
rence ;  for  what  was  to  be  done  with  a  madman  who 
had  an  open  razor  in  his  hand  %  Mr. ,  the  apo- 
thecary, seemed  to  have  been  gone  an  age ;  and  I 
found  even  my  temper  beginning  to  fail  me~for  I 


DIARY   OF  A  LATE    PHYSICIAN'.  283 

was  tired  with  liis  tricks,  deadly  'dan^rous  as  they 
were.  My  attention,  however,  was  soon  riveted  again 
on  the  motions  of  the  maniac.  "  Yes — yes,  deci- 
dedly so — I'm  too  hot  to  do  it  now — I  am  !"  said  he, 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead,  and  eying 
the  razor  intently.  "  I  must  get  calm  and  cool — and 
then — then  for  the  sacrifice  !  Ah,  ha,  the  sacrifice  ! — 
An  offering — expiation — even  as  AlDraham — ha,  ha, 
ha ! — But,  by-the-way,  how  did  Abraham  do  it — that 
is,  how  did  he  intend  to  have  done  it  ] — Ah,  I  must 
ask  my  famihar !" 

"A  sacrifice,  Mr.  M 1— WTiy,  what   do  you 

mean  ?"  I  inquired,  attempting  a  laugh — I  say,  at- 
tempting— for  my  blood  trickled  chillily  through  my 
veins,  and  mv  heart  seemed  frozen. 

"  WTiat  do'l  mean,  eh  ?  Wretch !  Dolt !— What  do 
I  mean  ] — Why,  a  peace-off"ering  to  my  Maker  for  a 
badly-spent  life,  to  be  sure  ! — One  would  think  you 
had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  religion — you 
sow  I" 

"  I  deny  that  the  sacrifice  would  be  accepted,  and 
for  two  reasons,"  I  replied,  suddenly  recollecting  that 
he  plumed  himself  on  his  casuistrv^  and  hoping  to 
engage  him  on  some  new  crotchet,  which  might  keep 

him  in  play  till  Mr. returned  with  assistance — 

but  I  was  mistaken ! 

"Well,  well.  Doctor  !     Let  that  be,  now — 

I  can't  resolve  doubts  now — no,  no,"  he  rephed, 
solemnly, — "  'tis  a  time  for  action — for  action — for 
action,"  he  continued,  gradually  elevating  his  voice, 
using  vehement  gesticulations,  and  rising  from  his 
seat. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  I,  waniily ;  "  but  though  you've 
followed  closely  enough  the  advice  of  the  Talmudist, 
in  shaving  off  your  eyebrows,  as  a  preparatory" 

"  Aha  !  aha !— What !  have  you  seen  the  Talmud  ? 
— Have  you,  really] — Well,"  he  added,  after  a  doubt- 
ful pause,  "  in  what  do  you  think  I've  failed,  eh  ]" 

[I  need  hardly  say,  that  I  myself  scarcely  knew 


284  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

what  led  me  to  utter  the  nonsense  in  question ;  but 
I  have  several  times  found,  in  cases  of  insanity,  that 
suddenly  and  readily  supplying  a  motive  for  the  pa- 
tienfs  conduct — referring  it  to  a  cawse,  of  some  sort 
or  other,  with  steadfast  intrepidity — even  be  the  said 
cause  never  so  preposterously  absurd — has  been 
attended  with  the  happiest  effects,  in  arresting  the 
patient's  attention — chiming  in  with  his  eccentric  fan- 
cies, and  piquing  his  disturbed  faculties  into  acquies- 
cence in  what  he  sees  coolly  taken  for  granted,  as 
quite  true — a  thing  of  course — mere  matter-of-fact — 
by  the  person  he  is  addressing.  I  have  several  times 
recommended  this  little  device  to  them  who  have 
been  intrusted  with  the  care  of  the  insane,  and  have 
been  assured  of  its  success.] 

"  You  are  very  near  the  mark,  I  own ;  but  it  strikes 
me  that  you  have  shaved  them  off  too  equally — too 
uniformly.  You  ought  to  have  left  some  little 
ridges — furrows — ^liem,  hem  ! — to — to — terminate,  or 
resemble  the — the — the  striped  stick  which  Jacob  held 
up  before  the  ewes!" 

"  Oh — ay — ay  !  Exactly — true  ! — Strange  over- 
sight !"  he  replied,  as  if  stiuck  with  the  truth  of  the 
remark,  and  yet  puzzled  by  vain  attempts  to  cor- 
roborate it  by  his  own  recollections — "  I — I  recollect 
it  now — but  it  isn't  too  late  yet — is  it  ?" 

"  I  think  not,"  I  replied,  with  apparent  hesitation, 
hardly  crediting  the  success  of  my  strange  strata- 
gem. "  To  be  sure,  it  will  require  veiy  great  deli- 
cacy ;  but  as  you've  not  shaved  them  off  -very  closely, 
I  think  I  can  manage  it,"  I  continued,  doubtfully. 

"  Oh,  oh,  oh  !"  growled  the  maniac,  while  his  eyes 
flashed  fire  at  me.  "  There's  one  sitting  by  me  that 
tells  me  you  are  dealing  falsely  with  me — oh,  you 
villain !  oh,  you  wretch  !"    At  that  moment  the  door 

opened  gently  behind  me,  and  the  voice  of  Mr.  , 

the  apothecary,  whispered,  in  a  low  hurried  tone, 
"  Doctor,  I've  got  three  of  the  inn-porters  here,  in 
the  sitting-room."    Though  the  wliisper  was  almost 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  285 

inaudible  even  to  me,  when  uttered  close  to  my  ear, 
to  my  utter  amazement,  M had  heard  every  syl- 
lable of  it,  and  understood  it  too,  as  if  some  official 
minion  of  the  Devil  himself  had  quickened  his  ears, 
or  conveyed  the  intelligence  to  him. 

"Ah— ha— ha  !— Ha,  ha,  ha! — Fools!  Knaves! 
Harpies! — and  what  are  you  and  your  three  hired 
desperadoes,  to  me  ? — Thus — thus  do  I  outwit  you, 
fools — thus !"  and  springing  from  his  seat,  he  sud- 
denly drew  up  the  lower  part  of  the  window-frame, 
and  looked  through  it — then  at  the  razor — and  again 
at  me,  with  one  of  the  most  awful  glances — fuU  of 
dark  diabolical  meaning,  the  momentaiy  suggestion 
of  the  great  tempter,  that  I  ever  encoimtered  in  my 
life. 

"  Which ! — ^which ! — which !"  he  muttered  fiercely 
through  his  closed  teeth,  while  his  right  foot  rested 
on  the  window-seat,  ready  for  him  to  spring  out,  and 
his  e^'e  travelled,  as  before,  rapidly  from  the  razor  to 
the  window.  Can  any  thing  be  conceived  more  pal- 
sying to  the  beholders  ?  '  Why  did  not  you  and  your 
strong  reinforcement  spring  at  once  upon  him,  and 
overpower  him?'  possibly  some  one  is  asking. — 
Aha !  and  he  armed  with  a  naked  razor  ?  His  head 
might  have  been  severed  from  his  shoulders,  before 
we  could  have  over-mastered  him — or  we  might  our- 
selves—at least  one  of  us — have  been  mmdered  in 
the  attempt.  W'e  knew  not  xa-hat  to  do!  M sud- 
denly withdrew  his  head  from  the  window,  through 
which  he  had  been  gazing,  with  a  shuddering,  horror- 
stricken  motion,  and  groaned — "  No  !  no  !  no  ! — I 
won't — can't — for  there's  T standing  just  be- 
neath, his  face  all  blazing,  and  waiting  with  out- 
spread arms  to  catch  me,"  standing  at  the  same  time 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  left  hand — when  I  whis- 
pered,— "  Now,  now  !  go  up  to  him — secure  him — all 
three  spring  on  him  at  once,  and  disarm  him  !"  They 
obeyed  me,  and  were  in  the  act  of  rushing  into  the 
room,  when  "Si suddenly  planted  liimself  in  a  pos- 


286  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

ture  of  defiance,  elevated  the  razor  to  his  throat,  and 
almost  howled — "  One  step — one  step  nearer — and  I 
— 1 — I — so  !"  motioning  as  thongh  he  would  draw  it 
from  one  ear  to  the  other.  We  all  fell  back,  horror- 
struck,  and  in  silence.  What  could  we  do  ?  If  we 
moved  towards  him,  or  made  use  of  any  threatening 
gesture,  we  should  see  the  floor  in  an  instant  deluged 
with  his  blood.  I  once  more  crossed  my  arms  on 
my  breast,  with  an  air  of  mute  submission. 

"Ha — ha!"  he  exclaimed,  after  a  pause,  evidently 
pleased  with  such  a  demonstration  of  his  power, 
"  obedient,  however ! — come — that's  one  merit !  But 
still,  what  a  set  of  cowards — bullies — cowards  you 
must  all  be ! — What ! — all  four  of  you  afraid  of  one 
man  ?"  In  the  course  of  his  frantic  gesticulations  he 
had  drawn  the  razor  so  close  to  his  neck  that  its 
edge  had  slightly  grazed  the  skin  under  his  left  ear, 
and  a  little  blood  trickled  from  it  over  his  shoulders 
and  breast. 

" Blood !—5Zooc? .^— What  a  strange  feeling!  How 
coldly  it  fell  on  my  breast ! — How  did  I  do  it? — Shall 
—I — go — on,  as  I  have  made  a  beginning  ?"  he  ex- 
claimed, drawling  the  words  at  great  length.  He 
shuddered,  and — to  my  unutterable  joy  and  aston- 
ishment— deliberately  closed  the  razor,  replaced  it  in 
its  case,  put  both  in  the  drawer ;  and  having  done  all 
this,  before  we  ventured  to  approach  him,  he  fell  at 
his  full  length  on  the  floor,  and  began  to  yell  in  a 
manner  that  was  perfectly  frightful ;  but  in  a  few 
moments  he  burst  into  tears,  and  cried  and  sobbed 
like  a  child.  We  took  him  up  in  our  arms,  he  groan- 
ing— "  Oh,  shorn  of  my  strength! — shorn!  shorn !  like 
Samson ! — Why  part  with  my  weapon  1 — The  Philis- 
tines be  upon  me !" — and  laid  him  down  on  the  bed, 
where,  after  a  few  moments,  he  fell  asleep.  When 
he  woke  again,  a  strait-waistcoat  put  all  his  tremen- 
dous strugglings  at  defiance — though  his  strength 
seemed  increased  in  a  tenfold  degree — and  prevented 
lus  attempting  either  his  own  life  or  that  of  any  one 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  287 

near  him.     When  he  found  all  his  wri things  and 
hearings  utterly  useless,  he  gnashed  his  teeth,  the 
foam  issued  from  his  mouth,  and  he  shouted,  "  I'll  be 
even  with  you,  you  incarnate  devils  ! — 1  will ! — I'll 
suffocate  myself!"   and  he  held  his  breath  till  he 
grew  black  in  the  face,  when  he  gave  over  the  at- 
tempt.  It  was  found  necessary  to  have  him  strapped 
down  to  the  bed;  and  his  howlings  were  so  shocking 
and  loud,  that  we  began  to  think  of  removing  him, 
even  in  that  dreadful  condition,  to  a  madhouse.     I 
ordered  his  head  to  be  shaved  again,  and  kept  per- 
petually covered  with  cloths  soaked  in  evaporating 
lotions — blisters  to  be  applied  behind  each  ear,  and 
at  the  nape  of  the  neck — ^leeches  to  the  temples,  and 
the  appropriate  internal  medicines  in  such  cases — 
and  left  him,  begging  I  might  be  sent  for  instantly 
in  the  event  of  his  getting  worse.*    Oh,  I  shall  never 
forget  this    harrowing  scene  ! — my  feelings   were 
wound  up  almost  to  bursting ;  nor  did  they  receive 
their  proper  tone  for  many  a  week.     I  cannot  con- 
ceive that  the  people  whom  the  New  Testament 
speaks  of  as  being  "  possessed  of  devils,"  could  have 
been  more    dreadful  in  appearance,  or  more   out- 
rageous in  their  actions,  than  was  Mr.  M ;  nor  can 

I  help  suggesting  the  thought,  that,  possibly,  they 
w^ere  in  reality  nothing  more  than  maniacs  of  the 
worst  kind.  And  is  not  a  man  transformed  into  a 
devil  when  his  reason  is  utterly  overturned  I 

On  seeing  M the  next  morning,  I  found  he  had 

passed  a  terrible  night—that  the  constraint  of  the 
strait-waistcoat  filled  him  incessantly  with  a  fury 
that  was  absolutely  diabolical.  His  tongue  was 
dreadfully  lacerated;  and  the  whites  of  his  eyes, 
with  perpetual  straining,  were  discoloured  with  a 

*  I  ought  to  have  mentioned,  a  liille  way  back,  thnt  in  obedience  to 
my  hurried  injunctions,  the  ladies  suffered  thenisek-es,  almost  tainting 
•with  fright,  to  be  conducted  silently  into  the  adjoirPfg  chambers ;  and  it 
was  well  they  did.  Suppose  they  had  uttered  y&y  sudden  shriek,  or 
attempted  to  interfere,  or  made  a  disturbance  of  aiiy  kind,  what  would 
have  become  of  us  all  I  / 


288  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

reddish  hue,  like  ferrets'  eyes.  He  was  truly  a  pite- 
ous spectacle !  One's  heart  ached  to  look  at  him, 
and  think,  for  a  moment,  of  the  fearful  contrast  he 

formed  to  the  gay  Mr.  M he  was  only  a  few  days 

before, — the  delight  of  refined  society,  and  the  id'ol  of 
all  his  friends  !  He  lay  in  a  most  precarious  state 
for  a  fortnight ;  and  though  the  fits  of  outrageous 
madness  had  ceased,  or  become  much  mitigated,  and 
interrupted,  not  unfrequently,  with  "  lucid  intervals" 
— as  the  phrase  is, — I  began  to  be  apprehensive  of  his 
sinking  eventually  into  that  hopeless,  deplorable  con- 
dition, idiotcy.  During  one  of  his  intervals  of  sanity 
— when  the  savage  fiend  relaxed,  for  a  moment,  the 

hold  he  had  taken  of  the  victim's  faculties — M 

said  something  according  with  a  fact  which  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  have  any  knowledge  of  by 
the  senses,  which  was  to  me  singular  and  inex- 
plicable. It  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning 
of  the  third  day  after  that  on  which  the  scene  above 

described  took  place,  that  M ,  who  was  lying  in  a 

state  of  the  utmost  lassitude  and  exhaustion,  scarcely 
able  to  open  his  eyes,  turned  his  head  slowly  to- 
wards Mr. ,  the  apothecary,  who  was  sitting  by 

his  bedside,  and  whispered  to  him — "  They  are  pre- 
paring to  bury  that  wretched  fellow  next  door — hush! 
hush ! — one  of  the  coffin-trestles  has  fallen — hush !" 

Mr. ,  and  the  nurse,  who  had  heard  him,  both 

strained  their  ears  to  listen,  but  could  hear  not  even 
"  a  mouse  stirring" — "  there's  somebody  come  in — a 
lady,  kissing  his  lips  before  he's  screwed  down — oh, 
I  hope  she  won't  be  scorched— that's  all !"  He  then 
turned  away  his  head,  with  no  appearance  of  emo- 
tion,  and    presently   fell    asleep.      Through    mere 

curiosity,  Mr. looked  at  his  watch ;  and  from 

subsequent  inquiry  ascertained  that — sure  enough — 
about  the  time  when  his  patient  had  spoken,  they 
were  about  binying  his  neighbour ;  that  one  of  the 
trestles  did  shp  a  little  aside,  and  the  coffin,  in  con- 
sequence, was  near  falling ;  and  finally,  marvellous 


DIARY  OF  A  LATE   PHYSICIAN.  289 

to  tell,  that  a  lady,  one  of  the  deceased's  relatives,  1 
believe,  did  come  and  kiss  the  corpse,  and  cry  bit- 
terly over  it !    Neither  Mr. nor  the  nurse  heard 

any  noise  whatever  during  the  time  of  the  burial 
preparations  next  door,  for  the  people  had  been 
earnestly  requested  to  be  as  quiet  about  them  as  pos- 
sible, and  really  made  no  disturbance  whatever.  By 
what  strange  means  he  had  acquired  his  information 
— whether  Or  not  he  was  indebted  for  it  to  the  ex- 
quisite delicacy,  the  morbid  sensitiveness  of  the 
organs  of  hearing,  I  cannot  conjecture ;  especially 
am  I  at  a  loss  to  accoimt  for  the  latter  part  of  what 
he  uttered,  about  the  lady's  kissing  the  corpse.  On 
another  occasion,  during  one  of  his  most  placid 
moods,  but  not  in  any  lucid  interval,  he  insisted  on 
my  taking  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  turning  amanuen- 
sis. To  (juiet  him  I  acquiesced,  and  wrote  what  he 
dictated  ;  and  the  manuscript  now  lies  before  me, 
and  is,  verbatim  et  literatim,  as  follows : — 

"  I,  T M ,  saw, — what  saw  I  ?    A  solemn 

silver  grove — there  were  innumerable  spirits  sleeping 
among  the  branches — (and  it  is  this,  though  unob- 
served of  naturalists,  that  makes  the  aspen-tree's 
leaves  to  quiver  so  much — it  is  this,  I  say,  namely, 
the  rustling  movements  of  the  spirits) — and  in  the 
midst  of  this  grove  was  a  beautiful  site  for  a  statue, 
and  one  there  assiu-edly  was — but  what  a  statue  ! 
Transparent,  of  stupendous  size,  through  which  (the 
sky  was  cloudy  and  troubled)  a  ship  was  seen  sink- 
ing at  sea,  and  the  crew  at  cards ;  but  the  good  spirit 
of  the  m.M  saved  them ;  for  he  showed  them  the  key 
of  the  universe,  and  a  shoal  of  sharks,  with  murder- 
ous eyes,  were  disappointed  of  a  meal.  Lo,  man, 
behold — another  part  of  this  statue — what  a  one ! — 
has  a  FISSURE  in  it — it  opens — widens  into  a  parlour, 
in  darkness  ;  and  shall  be  disclosed  the  horror  of 
horrors,  for,  lo,  some  one  sitting — sitting — easy- 
chair — fiery- face — fiend — fiend — oh,  God !  oh,  God  ! 
save  me,"  cried  he.  He  ceased  speaking,  with  a 
Bb 


290  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

shudder — nor  did  he  resume  the  dictation,  for  he 
seemed  in  a  moment  to  have  forgotten  that  he 
had  dictated  at  all.  I  preserved  the  paper;  and 
gibberish  though  it  is,  I  consider  it  both  curious 
and  highly  characteristic  throughout.  Judging  from 
the  latter  part  of  it,  where  he  speaks  of  a  "  dark  par- 
lour with  some  Jiery-faced  fiend  sitting  in  an  arm- 
chair ;^''  and  couphng  this  with  various  similar  ex- 
pressions and  allusions  which  he  made  during  his 
ravings,  I  felt  convinced  that  his  fancy  was  occupied 
with  some  one  individual  image  of  horror,  which  had 
scared  him  into  madness,  and  now  clung  to  his  dis- 
ordered faculties  like  a  fiend.  He  often  talked  about 
"  spectres,"  "  spectral" — and  uttered  incessantly  the 
words,  "spectre-smitten."  The  nurse  once  asked 
him  what  he  meant  by  these  words ;  he  started — 
grew  disturbed — his  eye  glanced  with  affright — and 
he  shook  his  head,  exclaiming,  "horror!"  A  few 
days  afterward  he  hired  an  amanuensis,  who,  of 
course,  was  duly  apprized  of  the  sort  of  person  he 
had  to  deal  with  ;  and  after  a  painfully  ludicrous 
scene — he  attempting  to  beat  down  the  man's  terms 
from  a  guinea  and  a  half  a  week  to  half  a  crown — he 
engaged  him  for  three  guineas,  he  said,  and  insisted 
on  his  taking  up  his  station  at  the  side  of  the  bed,  in 
order  that  he  might  take  down  every  M'ord  that  was 

uttered.     M told  him  he  was  going  to  dictate  a 

romance  !    It  would  have  required,  in  truth,  the  "  pen 

of  a  ready  writer"  to  keep  pace  with  poor  M 's 

utterance  ;  for  he  raved  on  at  a  prodigious  rate,  in  a 
strain,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  of  unconnected  absurdi- 
ties. Really  it  was  inconceivable  nonsense,  rhap- 
sodical rantings  in  the  Maturin  style,  full  of  vaults, 
sepulchres,  spectres,  devils,  magic — with  here  and 
there  a  thought  of  real  poetry.  It  was  piteous  to 
peruse  it !  His  amanuensis  found  it  impossible  to 
keep  up  with  him,  and  therefore  profited  by  a  hint 
from  one  of  us,  and,  instead  of  writing,  merely  moved 
his  pen  rapidly  over  the  paper,  scrawling  all  sorts  of 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  291 

ragged  lines  and  figures,  to  resemble  writing!  M 

never  asked  him  to  read  it  over,  nor  requested  to  see 
it  himself;  but,  after  about  fifty  pages  were  done, 
dictated  a  titlepage — pitched  on  publishers — settled 
the  price  and  tlie  number  of  volumes— four ! — and 
then  exclaimed — "  Well ! — thank  God — that^s  off  my 
mind  at  last !"  He  never  mentioned  it  afterward ; 
and  his  brother  committed  the  zvhole  to  the  flames 
about  a  week  after. 

M had  not,  however,  yet  done  with  his  amanu- 
ensis— but  put  his  services  in  requisition  in  quite  an- 
other capacity — that  of  reader.  Milton  was  the  book 
he  selected — and  actually  they  went  through  very 
nearly  nine  books  of  it, — M perpetually  inter- 
rupting him  with  comments,  sometimes  saying  sur- 
passingly absurd,  and  occasionally  very  fine,  forcible 
things.  All  this  formed  a  truly  touching  ilhlstration 
of  that  beautiful  often-quoted  sentiment  of  Horace — 

"  Quo  semel  est  imbuta  recens,  servabit  odorera 
Testa  diu," 

Epist.  Lib.  I.  Ep.  2.  69,  70. 

As  there  was  no  prospect  of  his  speedily  recover- 
ing the  use  of  his  reasoning  faculties,  he  was  re- 
moved to  a  private  asylum,  where  I  attended  him 
regularly  for  more  than  six  months.  He  was  re- 
duced to  a  state  of  drivelling  idiotcy ;  complete 
fatuity!  Lamentable!  heart-rending!  Oh, how  de- 
plorable to  see  a  man  of  superior  intellect — one  \vhose 
services  are  really  wanted  in  society — the  prey  of 
madness ! 

Dr.  Johnson  was  well  known  to  express  a  peculiar 
horror  of  insanity.  "  Oh,  God  !  afflict  my  body  with 
what  tortures  thou  wiliest ;  but  spare  my  reason .'" 
Where  is  he  that  does  not  join  him  in  uttering  such 
a  prayer  ? 

It  w^ould  be  beside  my  purpose  here  to  enter  into 
abstract  speculations  or  purely  professional  details 


292  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

concerning  insanity ;  but  one  or  two  brief  and  simple 
remarks,  the  fruits  of  much  experience  and  consider- 
ation, may  perhaps  be  pardoned  me.  It  is  still  a 
vexatu  questio  in  our  profession,  whether  persons  of 
strong  or  weak  minds — whether  the  ignorant  or  the 
highly  cultivated,  are  most  frequently  the  subjects  of 
insanity.  If  we  are  disposed  to  listen  to  a  generally 
shrewd  and  intelligent  writer  [Dr.  Munro,  in  his 
Philosophy  of  Human  JVaiwre"],  we  are  to  under- 
stand, that  "  children  and  people  of  weak  minds  are 
never  subject  to  madness ;  for,"  adds  the  doctor, 
"  how  can  he  despair  who  cannot  think  1"  Though 
the  logic  here  is  somewhat  loose  and  leaky,  I  am 
disposed  to  agree  with  the  doctor  in  the  main ;  and  I 
ground  my  acquiescence,  first,  on  the  truth  of  Locke's 
distinction,  laid  down  in  his  great  work  (book  ii. 
c.  ii.  ^  12  and  13),  where  he  mentions  the  difference 
"  between  idiots  and  madmen,"  and  thus  states  the 
sum  of  his  observations : 

"  In  short,  herein  seems  to  lie  the  difference  be- 
tween idiots  and  madmen,  that  madmen  put  wrong 
ideas  together,  and  do  make  wrong  propositions,  but 
argue  and  reason  right  from  them ;  but  idiots  make 
very  few  or  no  propositions,  and  reason  scarce  at 
all." 

Secondly,  On  the  corroboration  afforded  to  it  by 
my  own  experience.  I  have  generally  found  that 
those  persons  who  are  most  distinguished  for  their 
powers  of  thought  and  reasoning  when  of  sound 
mind,  continue  to  exercise  that  power,  but  incor- 
rectly, and  be  distinguished  by  their  exercise  of  that 
power  when  of  unsound  mind, — their  understand- 
ing retaining,  even  after  such  a  shock  and  revolution 
of  its  faculties,  the  bent  and  bias  impressed  upon  it 
beforehand ;  and  I  have  found,  further,  that  it  has 
been  chiefly  those  of  such  character — i.  e.  thinkers — 
that  have  fallen  into  madness ;  and  that  it  is  the  per- 
petual straining  and  taxing  of  their  strong  intellects, 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  293 

at  the  expense  of  their  bodies,  that  has  brought  them 
into  such  a  calamity.  Suppose,  therefore,  we  say,  in 
short,  that  madness  is  the  fate  of  strong-  minds,  or  at 
least  of  minds  many  degrees  removed  from  weak; 
and  idiotcy  of  weak,  imbecile  minds.  This  supposi- 
tion, however,  involves  a  sony  sort  of  compliment  to 
the  fair  sex ;  for  it  is  notorious  that  the  annual  ma- 
jority of  those  received  into  lunatic  asylums  are 
females !  I  have  found  imaginative,  fanciful  people 
the  most  liable  to  attacks  of  insanity;  and  have  had 
under  my  care  four  such  instances,  or  at  least  very 
nearly  resembling  the  one  lam  now  relating,  in  which 
insanity  has  ensued  from  sudden  fright.  And  it  is 
easily  accounted  for.  The  imagination — the  pre- 
dominant faculty — is  immediately  appealed  to — and, 
eminently  lively  and  tenacious  of  impressions,  exerts 
its  superior  and  more  practised  powers  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  judgment  or  reason,  which  it  tramples 
upon  and  crushes.  There  is  then  nothing  left  in  the 
mind  that  may  make  head  against  this  unnatural 
dominancy;  and  the  result  is  generally  not  unlike 
that  in  the  present  instance.  As  for  my  general  sys- 
tem of  treatment,  it  may  all  be  comprised  in  a  word 
or  two — acquiescence  ;  submission  ;  suggestion  ; 
soothing.*      Had  I  pursued  a  different  plan  with 

M ,  what  might  have  been  the  disastrous  issue  ! 

To  return,  however.  The  reader  may  possibly 
recollect  seeing  something  hke  the  following  expres- 
sion, occurring  in  "  The  Broken  Heart  :"t  "  A  candle 
flickering  and  expiring  in  its  socket,  which  suddenly 
shoots  up  into  an  instantaneous  brilliance,  and  then 
is  utterly  extinguished."  I  have  referred  to  it,  merely 
because  it  affords  a  very  apt  illustration — apter  far 
than  any  that  now  suggests  itself  to  me,  of  what 
sometimes  takes  place  in  madness.  The  roaring 
flame  of  insanity  sinks  suddenly  into  the  sullen, 


♦  See  the  case  "  Intriguing  and  Madness,  p.  91. 
t  Page  121. 

Bb? 


294  PASSAGES  FROM  THE 

smouldering  embers  of  complete  fatuity,  and  remains 
so  for  months ;  when,  like  that  of  the  candle  just 
alluded  to,  it  will  instantaneously  gather  up  and  con- 
centrate its  expiring  energies  into  one  terrific  blaze 
— one  final  paroxysm  of  outrageous  mania — and  lo  ! 
it  has  consumed  itself  utterly — burnt  itself  out — and 
the  patient  is  unexpectedly  restored  to  reason.  The 
experience  of  my  medical  readers,  if  it  have  lain  at 
all  in  the  track  of  insanity,  must  have  presented  such 
cases  to  their  notice  not  unfrequently.  However 
metaphysical  ingenuity  may  set  us  speculating  about 
the  "  why  and  wherefore"  of  it — the^ac^  is  undenia- 
ble.   It  was  thus  with  Mr.  M .    He  had  sunk  into 

the  deplorable  condition  of  a  simple,  harmless,  melan- 
choly idiot,  and  was  released  from  formal  constraint; 
but  suddenly,  one  morning,  while  at  breakfast,  he 
sprung  upon  the  person  who  always  attended  him — 
and  had  not  the  man  been  very  muscular,  and  prac- 
tised in  such  matters,  he  must  have  been  soon  over- 
powered, and  perhaps  murdered.  A  long  and  deadly 
wrestle  took  place  between  them.  Thrice  they  threw 
each  other — and  the  keeper  saw  that  the  madman 
several  times  cast  a  longing  eye  towards  a  knife 
which  lay  on  the  breakfast-table,  and  endeavoured  to 
swing  his  antagonist  so  as  to  get  himself  within  its 
reach.  Both  were  getting  exhausted  with  the  pro- 
longed struggle — and  the  keeper,  really  afraid  for  his 
life,  determined  to  settle  matters  as  soon  as  possible. 
The  instant,  therefore,  that  he  could  get  his  right  arm 

disengaged,  he  hit  poor  Mr.  M a  cruel  blow  on  the 

side  of  the  head,  which  felled  him,  and  he  lay  sense- 
less on  the  floor,  the  blood  pouring  fast  from  his  ears, 
nose,  and  mouth.  He  was  again  confined  in  a  strait- 
waistcoat,  and  conveyed  to  bed — when,  what  with 
exhaustion,  and  the  effect  of  the  medicines  which 
had  been  administered,  he  fell  into  profound  sleep, 
which  continued  all  day,  and,  with  little  intermission, 
through  the  night.  When  he  awoke  in  the  morning, 
lo !  he  was  "  in  his  right  mind !"    His  calmed,  tran- 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  295 

quillized  features,  and  the  sobered  expression  of  his 
eyes,  showed  that  the  sun  of  reason  had  really  once 
more  dawned  upon  his  long-benighted  faculties. 
Ay — he  was 

"  himself  again !" 

I  heard  of  the  good  news  before  I  saw  him,  and  on 
hastening  to  his  room,  I  found  it  was  indeed  so — his 
altered  appearance  at  first  sight  amply  corroborated 
it !  How  different  the  mild,  sad  smile  now  beaming 
on  his  pallid  faded  features,  from  the  vacant  stare — 
the  unmeaning  laugh  of  idiotcy — or  the  fiendish  glare 
of  madness ! — the  contrast  was  strong  as  that  be- 
tween the  soft,  stealing,  expansive  twilight,  and  the 
burning  blaze  of  noonday.  He  spoke  in  a  very  feeble, 
almost  inarticulate  voice,  complained  of  dreadful  ex- 
haustion, and  whispered  something  indistinctly  about 
"  waking  from  a  long  and  dreary  dream ;"  and  said 
that  he  felt,  as  it  were,  only  half  awake — or  alive. 
All  was  new — strange — startling !  Fearful  of  taxing 
too  much  his  new-bom  powers,  I  feigned  an  excuse, 
and  took  my  leave,  recommended  him  cooling  and 
quieting  medicines,  and  perfect  seclusion  from  visit- 
ers. How  exhilarated  I  felt  my  own  spirits  all  that 
day ! 

He  gradually,  very  gradually,  but  surely,  recovered. 
One  of  the  earliest  indications  of  his  reviving  interest 
in  life — 

"And  all  its  busy,  thronging  scenes," 

was  an  abrupt  inquiry  whether  Trinity  term  had  com- 
menced— and  whether  or  not  he  was  now  eligible  to 
be  called  to  the  bar.  He  was  utterly  unconscious 
that  three  terms  had  flitted  over  him,  while  he  lay  in 
the  gloomy  wilderness  of  insanity  ;  and  when  I  satis- 
fied him  of  this  fact,  he  alluded  with  a  sigh  to  the 
beautiful  thought  of  one  of  our  old  dramatists,  who, 
illustrating  the  unconscious  lapse  of  years  over  "  En- 
djrmion" — makes  one  t£ll  him — 

"  Lo,  the  twig  against  which  thou  leanedst  when  thou  didst  fall  asleep 
is  now  become  a  tree  when  thou  awakest  I" 


296  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

It  was  not  till  several  days  after  his  restoration  to 
reason  that  I  ventured  to  enter  into  any  thing  like 
detailed  conversation  with  him,  or  to  make  particular 
allusions  to  his  late  illness  ;  and  on  this  occasion  it 
was  that  he  related  to  me  his  rencounter  with  the 
fearful  object  which  had  overturned  his  reason — 
adding,  with  intense  feeling-,  that  not  ten  thousand 
a-year  should  induce  him  to  live  in  the  same  cham- 
bers any  more. 

During  the  course  of  his  progress  towards  com- 
plete recoveiy,  memory  shot  its  strengthening  rays 
further  and  further  back  into  the  inspissated  gloom 
in  which  the  long  interval  of  insanity  had  shrouded 
his  mind ;  but  it  was  too  dense — too  "  palpable  an 
obscure" — to  be  ever  completely  and  thoroughly  illu- 
minated. The  rays  of  recollection,  however,  settled 
distinctly  on  some  of  the  more  prominent  points ; 
and  I  was  several  times  astonished  by  his  sudden 
reference  to  things  which  he  had  said  and  done, 
during  the  "  depth  of  his  disorder."  He  asked  me 
once,  for  instance,  whether  he  had  not  made  an 
attempt  on  his  life,  and  with  a  razor,  and  how  it 
was  that  he  did  not  succeed.  He  had  no  recollec- 
tion, however,  of  his  long  and  deadly  struggle  with 
his  keeper — at  least  he  never  made  the  slightest  allu- 
sion to  it, — nor  of  course  did  any  one  else. 

"  I  don't  much  mind  talking  these  horrid  things 
over  with  you,  doctor — for  you  know  all  the  ins  and 
outs  of  the  whole  affair ;  but  if  any  of  my  friends 
or  relatives  presume  to  torture  me  with  any  allusions 
or  inquiries  of  this  sort — I'll  fight  them  !  they'll  drive 
me  mad  again !"  The  reader  may  suppose  the  hint 
was  not  disregarded.  All  recovered  maniacs  have  a 
dread — an  absolute  horror — of  any  reference  being 
made  to  their  madness,  or  any  thing  they  have  said 
or  done  during  the  course  of  it :  and  is  it  not  easily 
accounted  for? 

"  Did  the  horrible  spectre  which  occasioned  your 
illness,  in  the  first  instance,  ever  present  itself  to  you 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE   PHYSICIAN.  297 

afterward?"  I  once  inquired.  He  paused  and  turned 
pale.  Presently  he  replied,  with  considerable  agita- 
tion— "  Yes,  yes — it  scarcely  ever  left  me.  It  has 
not  always  preserved  its  spectral  consistency,  but 
has  entered  into  the  most  astounding — the  most  pre- 
posterous combinations  conceivable,  with  other  ob- 
jects and  scenes — all  of  them,  liowever,  more  or  less 
of  a  distressing  or  fearful  character — many  of  them 
terrific !"  I  begged  him,  if  it  were  not  unpleasant  to 
him,  to  give  me  a  specimen  of  them. 

"  It  is  certainly  far  from  gratifying  to  trace  scenes 
of  such  shame  and  horror — but  I  witl  comply  as  far 
as  I  am  able,"  said  he,  rather  gloomily.  "  Once  I 
saw  him,"  meaning  the  spectre,  "  leading  on  an  army 
of  huge  speckled  and  crested  serpents  against  me ; 
and  when  they  came  upon  me — for  I  had  no  power 
to  run  away — I  suddenly  found  myself  in  the  midst 
of  a  pool  of  stagnant  water,  absolutely  alive  with 
slimy  shapeless  reptiles  ;  and  while  endeavouring  to 
make  my  way  out,  he  rose  to  the  surface,  his  face 
hissing  in  the  water,  and  blazing  bright  as  ever! 
Again,  I  thought  I  saw  him  in  single  combat,  by  the 
gates  of  Eden,  with  Satan — and  the  air  thronged  and 
heated  with  swart  faces  looking  on !"  This  was  un- 
questionably some  dim  confused  recollection  of  the 
Milton-readings,  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  illness. 
"  Again,  I  thought  I  was  in  the  act  of  opening  my 
snuff-box,  when  he  issued  from  it,  diminutive  at  first 
in  size — but  swelling  soon  into  gigantic  proportions, 
and  his  fiery  features  diffusing  a  light  and  heat 
around,  that  absolutely  scorched  and  blasted!  At 
another  time  I  thought  I  was  gazing  upwards  on  a 
sultry  summer  sky — and  in  the  midst  of  a  luminous 
fissure  in  it,  made  by  the  lightning — I  distinguished 
his  accursed  figure,  with  his  glowing  features  wear- 
ing an  expression  of  horror,  and  his  limbs  out- 
stretched, as  if  he  had  been  hurled  down  from  some 
height  or  other,  and  was  falling  through  the  sky  to- 
wards me.    He  came — he  came — flung  himself  into 


298  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

my  recoiling  arms — and  clung  to  me — ^burning, 
scorching,  withering  my  soul  within  me !  I  thought 
further,  that  I  was  all  the  while  the  subject  of  strange, 
paradoxical,  contradictoiy  feelings  towards  him ; — 
that  I  at  one  and  the  same  time  loved  and  loathed — 
feared  and  despised  him !"  He  mentioned  several 
other  instances  of  the  confusions  in  his  "  chamber  of 
imagery."  I  told  him  of  his  sudden  exclamation 
concerning  Mr.  T 's  burial,  and  its  singular  cor- 
roboration ;  but  he  either  did  not,  or  affected  not  to 
recollect  anything  about  it.  He  told  me  he  had  a  full 
and  distinct  recollection  of  being  for  a  long  time  pos- 
sessed with  the  notion  of  making  himself  a  "  sacri- 
fice" of  some  sort  or  other,  and  that  he  was  seduced 
or  goaded  on  to  do  so  by  the  spectre,  in  the  most 
dazzling  temptations — and  under  the  most  appalling 
threats — one  of  which  latter  was,  that  God  would 
plunge  him  into  hell  for  ever,  if  he  did  not  offer  up 
himself; — that  if  he  did  so,  he  should  be  a  sublime 
spectacle  to  the  universe,"  &c.  &c.  &c. 

"  Do  you  recollect  of  dictating  a  novel  or  a  ro- 
mance V  He  started  as  if  struck  with  some  sudden 
recollection.  "  No — but  I'll  tell  you  what  I  recollect 
well — that  the  spectre  and  I  were  set  to  copy  all  the 
tales  and  romances  that  ever  had  been  written,  in  a 
large,  bold,  round  hand,  and  then  translate  them  into 
Greek  or  Latin  verse  !"  He  smiled,  nay,  even  laughed 
at  the  thought,  almost  the  first  time  of  his  giving 
way  to  such  emotions  since  his  recovery.  He  added, 
that  as  to  the  latter,  the  idea  of  the  utter  hopeless- 
ness of  ever  getting  through  such  a  stupendous 
undertaking  never  once  presented  itself  to  him,  and 
that  he  should  have  gone  on  with  it,  but  that  he  lost 
his  inkstand ! ! 

"  Had  you  ever  a  clear  and  distinct  idea  that  you 
had  lost  the  right  use  of  reason  ?" 

"  Why,  about  that,  to  tell  the  truth,  I've  been  puz- 
zling myself  a  good  deal,  and  yet  I  cannot  say  any 
thing  decisive.    I  do  fancy  that  at  times  I  had  short, 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  299 

transient  glimpses  into  the  real  state  of  things,  but 
they  were  so  evanescent.  I  am  conscious  of  feeling 
at  these  times  incessant  fury  arising  from  a  sense  of 
personal  constraint,  and  I  longed  once  to  strangle 
some  one  who  was  giving  me  medicine." 

But  one  of  the  most  singular  of  all  is  yet  to  come. 
He  still  persisted  then,  after  his  complete  recovery 
as  we  supposed,  in  avowing  his  belief  that  we  had 
hired  a  huge  boa  serpent  from  Exeter  'Change,  to 
come  and  keep  constant  watch  over  him,  to  con- 
strain his  movements  when  he  threatened  to  become 
violent;  that  it  lay  constantly  coiled  up  under  his 
bed  for  that  purpose  ;  that  he  could  now  and  then 
feel  the  motions — the  wrilhing  undulating  motions 
of  its  coils — hear  it  utter  a  sort  of  sigh,  and  see  it 
often  elevate  its  head  over  the  bed,  and  play  with  its 
soft,  slippery,  delicate  forked  tongue  over  his  face,  to 
soothe  him  to  sleep.  When  poor  M ,  with  a  se- 
rious, sober,  earnest  air,  assured  me  he  still  believed 
all  this,  my  hopes  of  his  complete  and  final  restora- 
tion to  sanity  were  dashed  at  once!  How  such  an 
absurd — in  short  I  have  no  terms  in  which  I  may 
adequately  characterize  it — how,  I  say,  such  an  idea 
could  possibly  be  persisted  in  I  was  bewildered  in 
attempting  to  conceive.  I  frequently  strove  to  rea- 
son him  out  of  it,  but  in  vain.  To  no  purpose  did  I 
burlesque  and  caricature  the  notion  almost  beyond 
all  bounds ;  it  was  useless  to  remind  him  of  the  blank 
impossibility  of  it ;  he  regarded  me  with  such  a  face 
as  I  should  exhibit  to  a  fluent  personage,  quite  in 
earnest  in  demonstrating  to  me  that  the  moon  was 
made  of  green  cheese. 

I  have  once  before  heard  of  a  patient  who,  after 
recovering  from  an  attack  of  insanity,  retained  one 
solitary  crotcliet  — one  little  stain  or  speck  of  lunacy 
— about  which,  and  which  alone,  he  was  mad  to  the 
end  of  his  life.     I  supposed  such  to  be  the  case  with 

M .    It  was  possible — barely  so,  I  thought — that 

he  might  entertain  his  preposterous  notion  about  the 


300  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

boa,  and  yet  be  sound  in  the  general  texture  of  his 
mind.  I  prayed  God  it  might;  I  "hoped  against 
hope."  The  last  evening  I  ever  spent  with  him  was 
occupied  with  my  endeavouring,  once  for  all,  to  dis- 
abuse him  of  the  idea  in  question ;  and  in  the  course 
of  our  conversation  he  disclosed  one  or  two  other 
little  symptoms — specks  of  lunacy — which  made  me 
leave  him  filled  with  disheartening  doubts  as  to  the 

probability  of  a  permanent  recovery. 

******** 

My  worst  fears  were  awfully  realized.    In  about 

five  years  from  the  period  above  alluded  to,  M , 

who  had  got  married,  and  had  enjoyed  excellent 
general  health,  was  spending  the  summer  with  his 
family  at  Brussels — and  one  night  destroyed  him- 
self— alas,  alas !  destroyed  himself  in  a  maimer  too 
horrible  to  mention'! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Martyr-Philosopher. 

It  has  been  my  lot  to  witness  many  dreadful  death- 
beds. I  am  not  overstating  the  truth,  when  I  assert 
that  nearly  eight  out  of  every  ten  that  have  come 
under  my  personal  observation — of  course  excluding 
children — have  more  or  less  partaken  of  this  char- 
acter. I  know  only  one  way  of  accounting  for  it, 
and  some  may  accuse  me  of  cant  for  adverting  to  it 
— men  will  not  live  as  if  they  were  to  die.  They 
are  content  to  let  that  event  come  upon  them  "  like 
a  thief  in  the  night."*    They  grapple  with  their  final 

*  One  of  my  patients,  whom  a  long  course  of  profligacy  had  brought  to 
a  painAil  and  premature  death-bed,  once  quoted  this  striking  and  scriptural 
expression  when  within  less  than  an  hour  of  his  end,  and  with  a  thrill 
of  horror. 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  301 

foe,  not  merely  unprepared,  but  absolutely  inca- 
pacitated for  the  struggle,  and  then  wonder  and  wail 
at  their  being  overcome  and  "  trodden  under  foot." 
I  have,  in  some  of  the  foregoing  chapters,  attempted 
to  sketch  three  or  four  dreary  scenes  of  this  descrip- 
tion, my  pencil  trembling  in  my  hand  the  while ;  and 
could  I  but  command  colours  dark  enough,  it  is  yet 
in  my  power  to  portray  others  far  more  appalling 
than  any  that  have  gone  before — cases  of  those  who 
have  left  life  "clad  in  horror's  hideous  robe" — 
'whose  sun  has  gone  down  in  darkness — if  I  may  be 
pardoned  for  quoting  the  fearful  language  of  a  very 
unfashionable  book ! 

Now,  however,  for  a  while  at  least,  let  the  storm 
pass  away;  the  accumulated  clouds  of  guilt,  despair, 
madness,  disperse ;  and  the  lightning  of  the  fiercer 
passions  cease  to  shed  its  disastrous  glare  over  our 
minds.  Let  us  rejoice  beneath  the  serened  heavens ; 
let  us  seek  sunnier  spots — by  turning  to  the  more 
peaceful  pages  of  humanity.  Let  me  attempt  to  lay 
before  the  reader  a  short  account  of  one  whose  exit 
was  eminently  calm,  tranquil,  and  dignified;  who  did 
not  skulk  into  his  gi'ave  with  shame  and  fear,  but  laid 
down  life  with  honour:  leaving  behind  him  the  influence 
of  his  greatness  and  goodness,  like  the  evening  sun — 
who  smiles  sadly  on  the  sweet  scenes  he  is  quitting,  and 
a  holy  lustre  glows  long  on  the  featmes  of  nature — 

"  Quiet  as  a  nun 
"  Breathless  with  adoration."* 


Even  were  I  disposed,  I  could  not  gratify  the 
reader  with  any  thing  like  a  fair  sketch  of  the  early 

days  of  Mr.  E .     I  have  often  lamented,  that, 

knowing  as  I  did  the  simplicity  and  frankness  of  his 
disposition,  I  did  not  once  avail  myself  of  several 
opportunities  which  fell  in  my  way  of  becoming 
acquainted  with  the  leading  particulars  of  his  life. 

*  Wordsworth,  I  believe. 

Cc 


302  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

Now,  however,  as  is  generally  the  case,  I  can  but 
deplore  my  negligence,  when  remedying  it  is  impos- 
sible. All  that  I  have  it  now  in  my  power  to  record 
is  some  particulars  of  his  latter  days.  Interesting  I 
know  they  will  be  considered :  may  they  prove 
instructive.  I  hope  the  few  records  I  have  here  pre- 
served will  show  how  a  mind  long  disciplined  by 
philosophy,  and  strengthened  by  religious  principle, 
may  triumph  over  the  assault  of  evils  and  misfortunes 
combined  against  its  expiring  energies.  It  is  fitting, 
I  say,  the  w^orld  should  hear  how  nobly  E sur- 
mounted such  a  sudden  influx  of  disasters  as  have 
seldom  before  burst  overwhelmingly  upon  a  death- 
bed. 

And  should  this  chapter  of  my  Diary  chance  to  be 
seen  by  any  of  his  relatives  and  early  friends,  I  hope 
the  reception  it  shall  meet  with  from  the  public  may 
stimulate  them  to  give  the  world  some  fuller  particu- 
lars of  Mr.  E 's  valuable,  if  not  very  varied  life. 

More  thian  seven  years  have  elapsed  since  his  death; 
and  as  yet,  the  only  intimation  the  public  has  had  of 
the  event,  has  been  in  the  dreary  corner  of  the  public 
prints  allotted  to  "  Deaths,'''' — and  a  brief  enumeration 
in  one  of  the  quarterly  journals  of  some  of  his  lead- 
ing contributions  to  science.  The  world  at  large, 
however,  scarce  know  that  he  ever  lived — or  at  least, 
hoxv  he  lived  or  died ;  but  how  often  is  such  the  fate 
of  modest  merit ! 

My  first  acquaintance  with  Mr.  E commenced 

accidentally,  not  long  before  his  death,  at  one  of  the 
evening  meetings  of  a  learned  society  of  which  we 
were  both  members.  The  first  glimpse  I  caught  of 
him  interested  me  much,  and  inspired  me  with  a  kind 
of  reverence  for  him.  He  came  into  the  room  within 
a  few  minutes  of  the  chair's  being  taken,  and  walked 
quietly  and  slowly,  with  a  kind  of  stooping  gait,  to 
one  of  the  benches  near  the  fireplace,  where  he  sat 
down  without  taking  off  his  great-coat,  and  crossing 
his  gloved  hands  on  the  knob  of  a  high  walking- 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  303 

Stick,  he  rested  his  chin  on  them,  and  in  that  attitude 
continued  througliout  the  evening.  He  removed  his 
hat  when  the  chainiian  made  his  appearance ;  and  1 
never  saw  a  finer  head  in  my  life.  The  crown  was 
quite  bald,  but  the  base  was  fringed  round,  as  it  were, 
with  a  little  soft,  glossy,  silver-hued  hair,  which  in 
the  distance  looked  like  a  faint  halo.  His  forehead 
was  of  noble  proportions ;  and,  in  short,  there  was 
an  expression  of  serene  inteUigence  in  his  features, 
blended  with  meekness  and  dignity,  which  quite 
enchanted  me. 

"  Pray,  who  is  that  gentleman  V  I  inquired  of  my 

friend  Dr.  D ,  who  was  sitting  beside  me.     "  Do 

you  mean  that  elderly  thin  man  sitting  near  the  fire- 
place with  a  great-coat  on  V — "  The  same." — "  Oh,  it 

is  Mr.  E ,  one  of  the  very  ablest  men  in  the  room, 

though  he  talks  the  least,"  whispered  my  friend ; 
"  and  a  man  who  comes  the  nearest  to  my  beau  ideal 
of  a  philosopher  of  any  man  I  ever  kneW'  or  heard 
of  in  the  present  day !" 

"  Why,  he  does  not  seem  very  well  known  here," 
said  I,  observing  that  he  neither  spoke  to  nor  was 
spoken  to  by  any  of  the  members  present.     "  Ah, 

poor  Mr.  E is  breaking  up,  I'm  afraid,  and  that 

very  fast,"  replied  my  friend,  with  a  sigh.  "  He 
comes  but  seldom  to  our  evening  meetings,  and  is 
uot  ambitious  of  making  many  acquaintances."  I 
intimated  an  eager  desire  to  be  introduced  to  him. 
"Oh,  nothing  easier,"  replied  my  friend,  "for  I 
know  him  more  familiarly  than  any  one  present,  and 
he  is,  besides,  simple  as  a  child  in  his  mamiers,  even 
to  eccentricity,  and  the  most  amiable  man  in  the 
Avorld.  I'll  introduce  you  when  the  meeting's  over." 
While  we  were  thus  whispering  together,  the  subject 
of  our  conversation  suddenly  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
with  some  trepidation  of  mamier  addressed  a  few 
words  to  the  chair,  in  correction  of  some  assertions 
which  he  interrupted  a  member  in  advancing.  It 
was  something,  if  I  recollect  right,  about  the  atomic 


304  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

theory,  and  was  received  with  marked  deference  by 
the  president,  and  general  "  Hear !  hears !"  from  the 
members.  He  then  resumed  his  seat,  in  which  he 
was  presently  followed  by  the  speaker  whom  he  had 
evidently  discomfited;  his  eyes  glistened,  and  his 
cheeks  were  flushed  with  the  effort  he  had  made,  and 
he  did  not  rise  again  till  the  conclusion  of  the  sitting. 
We  then  made  our  way  to  him,  and  my  friend  intro- 
duced me.  He  received  me  politely  and  frankly. 
He  complained,  in  a  weak  voice,  that  the  walk  thither 
had  quite  exhausted  him,  that  his  health  was  failing 
him,  &c. 

"  Why,  Mr.  E ,  you  look  very  well,"  said  my 

friend. 

"  Ah,  perhaps  I  do,  but  you  know  how  little  faith 
is  to  be  put  in  the  hale  looks  of  an  old  and  weak  man. 
Age  generally  puts  a  good  face  on  bad  matters,  even 
to  the  last,"  he  added,  with  a  smile  and  a  shake  of 
the  head. 

"  A  sad  night !"  he  exclaimed,  on  hearing  the  wind 
howling  drearily  without,  for  we  were  standing  by 
a  window  at  the  north-egtst  comer  of  the  large  build- 
ing; and  a  March  wind  swept  cruelly  by,  telling 
bitter  things  to  the  old  and  feeble  who  had  to  face 
it.  "Allow  me  to  recommend  that  you  wrap  up 
your  neck  and  breast  well,"  said  I. 

"  I  intend  it,  indeed,"  he  replied,  as  he  was  folding 
up  a  large  silk  handkerchief.  "One  must  guard 
one's  candle  with  one's  hand,  or  death  will  blow  it 
out  in  a  moment.  That's  the  sort  of  treatment  we 
old  people  get  from  him ;  no  ceremony — he  waits  for 
one  at  a  bleak  corner,  and  puffs  out  one's  expiring 
light  with  a  breath,  and  then  hastens  on  to  the  more 
vigorous  torch  of  youth." 

"  Have  you  a  coacli  1"  inquired  Dr.  D . 

"A  coach!   I  shall  walk  it  in  less  than  twenty 

minutes,"  said  Mr.  E ,  buttoning  his  coat  up  to 

the  chin. 

"  Allow  me  to  offer  you  both  a  seat  in  mine,"  said 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  305 

I ;  "  it  is  at  the  door,  and  I  am  driving  towards  your 
neighbourhood."  He  and  Dr.  D^ —  accepted  the 
offer,  and  in  a  few  minutes'  time  we  entered,  and 
drove  off.  We  soon  set  down  the  latter,  who  lived 
close  by ;  and  then  my  new  philosophical  friend  and 
I  were  left  together.  Our  conversation  turned,  for 
a  while,  on  the  evening's  discussion  at  the  society ; 
and  in  a  very  few  words,  remarkably  well  chosen, 
he  pointed  out  what  he  considered  to  have  been 
errors  committed  by  Sir and  Dr. ,  the  prin- 
cipal speakers.  I  was  not  more  charmed  by  the  lu- 
cidness  of  his  views  than  by  the  unaffected  diffidence 
with  which  they  were  expressed. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  a  little  pause  in  our  con- 
versation, "  your  carriage  motion  is  mighty  pleasant ; 
it  reduces  one  into  a  feeling  of  indolence !  These 
delicious  soft-yielding  cushioned  backs  and  seats, 
they  would  make  a  man  loath  to  use  his  legs  again ! 
Yet  I  never  kept  a  carriage  in  my  life,  though  I  have 
often  wanted  one,  and  could  easily  have  afforded  it 
once."  I  asked  him  why  ]  He  replied,  "  It  was  not 
because  he  feared  childish  accusations  of  ostenta- 
tion, nor  yet  in  order  to  save  money,  but  because  he 
thought  it  becoming  to  a  rational  being  to  be- content 
with  the  natural  means  God  has  given  him,  both  as 
to  matter  of  necessity  and  pleasure.  It  was  an  in- 
sult," he  said,  "  to  nature,  while  she  was  in  full  vig- 
our, and  had  exhibited  little  or  no  deficiency  in  her 
functions,  to  hurry  to  art.  For  my  own  part,"  said 
he,  "  I  have  always  found  a  quiet  but  exquisite  satis- 
faction in  continuing  independent  of  her  assistance, 
though  at  the  cost  of  some  occasional  inconvenience : 
it  gives  you  a  consciousness  of  relying  incessantly 
on  Him  who  made  you  and  sustains  you  in  being. 
Do  you  recollect  the  solemn  saying  of  Johnson  to 
Garrick,  on  seeing  the  immense  levies  the  latter  had 
made  on  the  resources  of  ostentatious,  ornamental 
art?  'Davie,  Davie,  these  are  the  things  that  make 
a  death-bed  terrible!'"  I  said  something  about 
Co  2 


306  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

Diogenes.  "  Ah,"  he  replied,  quickly,' "  the  other  ex- 
treme! He  accused  nature  of  superfluity,  redun- 
dancy. A  proper  subordination  of  externals  to  her 
use  is  part  of  her  province ;  else  why  is  she  placed 
among  so  many  materials,  and  witli  such  facilities 
of  using  them]  My  principle,  if  such  it  may  be 
called,  is,  that  art  may  minister  to  nature,  but  not 
pamper  and  surfeit  her  with  superfluities. 

"  You  would  laugh,  perhaps,  to  come  to  my  house, 
and  see  the  extent  to  which  1  have  carried  my  prin- 
ciples into  practice.  I, — yes,  I, — whose  life  has 
been  devoted,  among  other  things,  to  the  discovery 
of  mechanical  contrivances  !  You,  accustomed,  per- 
haps, to  the  elegant  redundancies  of  these  times,  may 
consider  my  house  and  furniture  absurdly  plain  and 
naked — a  tree  stripped  of  its  leaves,  when  the  birds 
are  left  to  lodge  on  the  bare  branches !  But  I  M'^ant 
little,  and  do  not  '  want  that  little  long.'  But  stop, 
here  is  my  house !  Come — a  laugh,  you  know,  is 
good  before  bed — will  you  have  it  now  ?  Come,  see 
a  curiosity — a  Diogenes,  but  no  cynic!"  Had  the 
reader  seen  the  modesty,  the  cheerfulness,  the  calm- 
ness of  manner  with  which  Mr.  E ,  from  time  to 

time,  joined  in  the  conversation,  of  which  the  above 
is  the  substance,  and  been  aware  of  the  weight  due 
to  his  sentiments,  or  those  of  one  who  had  actually 
LIVED  UP  to  them  all  his  life,  and  earned  a  very  high 
character  in  the  philosophical  world — if  he  be  aware 
how  often  old  age  and  pedantry,  grounded  on  a  small 
reputation,  are  blended  in  repulsive  union,  he  might 
not  consider  the  trouble  I  have  taken  thrown  away 
in  recording  this  my  first  conversation  with  Mr. 

E .     He  was,  indeed,  an  instance  of  "  philosophy 

teaching  by  example ;"  a  sort  of  character  to  be 
sought  out  for  in  life,  as  one  at  whose  feet  we  may 
safely  sit  down  and  learn.  I  could  not  accept  of 
Mr.  E 's  invitation  that  evening,  as  I  had  a  pa- 
tient to  see  a  little  farther  on ;  but  I  promised  him 
an  early  call.    All  my  way  home  my  mind  was  filled 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  307 

with  the  image  of  E ,  and  partook  of  the  tran- 
quillity and  pensiveness  of  its  guest. 

I  scarce  know  how  it  was,  but  with  all  my  admi- 
ration of  Mr.  E ,  I  suffered  the  month  of  May  to 

approach  its  close  before  I  again  encountered  him. 
It  was  partly  owing  to  a  sudden  increase  of  business, 
created  by  a  raging  scarlet  fever,  and  partly  occa- 
sioned by  illness  in  my  own  family.  I  often  thought 
and  talked,  however,  of  the  philosopher,  for  that  was 

the  name  he  went  by  with  Dr.  D and  myself. 

Mr.  E had  invited  us  both  to  take  "  an  old-fash- 
ioned friendly  cup  of  tea"  with  him  ;  and  accordingly, 
about  six  o'clock,  we  found  ourselves  driving  down 

to  his  house.     On  our  way.  Dr.  D told  me  that 

our  friend  had  been  a  widower  nearly  five  years ; 
and  that  the  loss,  somewhat  sudden,  of  his  amiable 
and  accomplished  wife  had  worked  a  great  change 
in  him,  by  divesting  him  of  nearly  all  interest  in  life 
or  its  concerns.  He  pursued  even  his  philosophical 
occupations  with  languor,  more  from  a  kind  of  habit 
than  inclination.  Still  he  retained!  the  same  even- 
ness and  cheerfulness  which  had  distinguished  him 
through  life.  But  the  blow  had  been  struck  which 
severed  him  from  the  world's  joys  and  engagements. 
He  might  be  compared  to  a  great  tree  torn  up  by  the 
root,  and  laid  prostrate  by  a  storm,  yet  M^hich  dies 
not  all  at  once.  The  sap  is  not  instantaneously 
dried  up ;  but  for  weeks,  or  even  months,  you  may 
see  the  smaller  branches  still  shooting  unconsciously 
into  short-lived  existence,  all  fresh  and  tender  from 
the  womb  of  their  dead  mother;  and  a  rich  gieen 
mantle  of  leaves  long  concealing  from  view  the  poor 
fallen  trunk  beneath.  Such  was  the  pensive  turn 
my  thoughts  had  taken  by  the  time  we  had  reached 

Mr.  E 's  door.     It  was  a  fine  summer  evening — 

the  hour  of  calm  excitement.  The  old-fashioned  win- 
dow-panes of  the  house  we  had  stopped  at  shone  like 
small  specks  of  fire  in  the  steady  slanting  rays  of  the 
retiring  sun.    It  was  the  first  house  of  a  very  respect- 


308  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

able  antique-looking  row,  in  the  suburbs  of  London, 
which  had  been  built  in  the  days  of  Henry  the  Eighth. 
Three  stately  poplars  stood    sentries    before   the 
gateway. 
"  Well,  here  we  are  at  last  at  Plato's  Porch,  as  I've 

christened  it,"  said  Dr.  D ,  knocking  at  the  door. 

On  entering  the  parlour,  a  large  old-fashioned  room, 
furnished  with  tlie  utmost  simplicity  consistent  with 

comfort,  we  found  Mr.  E sitting  near  the  window, 

reading.  He  was  in  a  brown  dressing-gown  and 
study  cap.  He  rose  and  welcomed  us  cheerfully. 
"  I  have  been  looking  into  La  Place,"  said  he,  in  the 
first  pause  which  ensued,  "  and  a  little  before  your 
arrival,  had  flattered  myself  that  I  had  detected  some 
erroneous  calculations ;  and  only  look  at  the  quantity 
of  evidence  that  was  necessary  to  convince  that  I  was 
a  simpleton  by  the  side  of  La  Place !"  pointing  to  two 
or  three  sheets  of  paper  crammed  witli  small  algebrai- 
cal characters  in  pencil — a  fearful  array  of  symbols 

— 'VTZI  3a%n  f|-i-9  —  ?i=9;7iX  log.  e"— 
and  sines,  co-sines,  series,  &c.  &c.  without  end.  I 
had  the  curiosity  to  take  up  the  volume  in  question, 

Avhile  he  was  speaking  to  Dr.  D ,  and  noticed  on 

the  fly  leaf  the  autograph  of  the  Marquis  La  Place, 

who  had  sent  his  work  to  Mr.  E .     Tea  was 

presently  brought  in ;  and  as  soon  as  the  plain  old- 
fashioned  china,  &c.  &c.  had  been  laid  on  the  table 
by  the  man-servant,  himself  a  knowing  old  fellow 
as  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  Miss  E ,  the  philoso- 
pher's niece,  made  her  appearance,  an  elegant,  unaf- 
fected girl,  with  the  same  style  of  features  as  her  uncle. 
"  T  can  give  a  shrewd  guess  at  your  thoughts.  Dr. 

,"  said  Mr.  E ,  smiling,  as  he  caught  my  eye 

following  the  movements  of  the  man-servant  till  he 
left  the  room.  "  You  fancy  my  keeping  a  man-ser- 
vant to  wait  at  table  does  not  tally  very  well  with 
what  I  said  the  last  time  I  had  the  pleasure  of  see- 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  309 

"  Oh  dear,  I'm  sure  you're  mistaken,  Mr.  E ! 

I  was  struck  with  the  singularity  of  his  countenance 
and  manners — those  of  a  stanch  old  family  servant." 

"  Ah,  Joseph  is  a  vast  favourite  with  my  uncle," 
said  Miss  E ,  "  I  can  assure  you,  and  fancies  him- 
self nearly  as  ^eat  a  man  as  his  master." 

"  Why,  as  far  as  the  pratique  of  the  laboratory  is 
concerned,  I  doubt  if  his  superior  is  to  be  found  in 
London.  He  knows  iU  and  all  my  ways  as  well  as 
he  knows  the  palm  of  his  own  hand !  He  has  the 
neatest  way  in  the  world  of  making  hydrogen  gas, 
and,  what  is  more,  found  it  out  himself,"  said  Mr. 

E ,  explaining  the  process  ;  "  and  then  he  is  a 

miracle  of  cleanliness  and  care!  He  has  not  cost 
me  ten  shillings  in  breakage  since  I  knew  him.  He 
moves  among  my  brittle  waires  like  a  cat  on  a  glass 
wall." 

"  And  then  he  writes  and  reads  for  my  uncle — 
does  all  the  minor  work  of  the  laboratoiy — goes  on 
errands — waits  at  table — in  short,  he's  quite  invalua- 
ble," said  Miss  E . 

"  Quite  a  factotum^  I  protest,"  exclaimed  Dr. 
D . 

"  You'd  lose  your  hetter  half,  then,  if  he  were  to 
die,  I  suppose  ?"  said  I,  quickly. 

"  No !   that  can  happen  but   once,''^   replied  Mr. 

E ,  with  a  sigh,  alluding  to  the  death  of  his  wife. 

Conversation  flagged  for  a  moment.  "  You've  for- 
gotten," at  length  said  E ,  breaking  the  melan- 
choly pause,  "the  very  chief  of  poor  Joseph's 
accomphshments — what  an  admirable,  unwearied 
nurse  he  is  to  me."  At  that  moment  Joseph  entered 
the  room  with  a  note  in  his  hand,  which  he  gave  to 

IMr.  E .     I  guessed  where  it  came  from ;   for 

happening  a  few  moments  before  to  cast  my  eye  to 
the  window,  I  saw  a  footman  walking  up  to  the 
door;   and  there  was  no  mistaking  the  gorgeous 

scarlet  liveries  of  the  Duke  of .     E ,  after 

glancing  over  the  letter,  begged  us  to  excuse  liim 


310  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

for  a  minute  or  two,  as  the  man  was  waiting  for  an 
answer. 

"  You^  of  course,  knew  what  my  uncle  alluded  to," 

said  Miss  E ,  addressing  Dr.  D in  a  low 

tone,  as  soon  as  E had  closed  the  door  after 

him,  "when  he  spoke  of  Joseph's  being  a  nurse; 

don't  you  V    Dr.  D nodded.     "  My  poor  uncle," 

she  continued,  addressing  me,  "  has  been  for  nearly 
twenty-Jive  years  afflicted  with  a  dreadful  disease  in 
the  spine ;  and  during  all  that  time  has  suffered  a 
perfect  martyrdom  from  it.  He  could  not  stand 
straight  up,  if  it  were  to  save  his  life ;  and  he  is 
obliged  to  sleep  in  a  bed  of  a  very  curious  descrip- 
tion, the  joint  contrivance  of  himself  and  Joseph. 
He  takes  half  an  ounce  of  laudanum  every  night  at 
bedtime,  without  whichthe  pains,  which  are  always 
most  excruciating  at  nighttime,  would  not  suffer  him 
to  get  a  moment's  sleep.  Oh,  how  often  have  I  seen 
him  rolling  about  on  this  carpet  and  hearth-rug — 
yes,  even  in  the  presence  of  visiters — in  a  perfect 
ecstasy  of  agony,  and  uttering  the  most  heartbreaking 
groans." 

"And  I  can  add,"  said  Dr.  D ,  "that  he  is 

the  most  perfect  Job,  the  most  angelic  sufferer  I 
ever  saw." 

"  Indeed,  indeed  he  is,"  rejoined  Miss  E ,  with 

emotion.  "  I  can  say  with  perfect  truth  that  I  never 
once  heard  him  murmur  or  complain  at  his  hard  fate. 
When  I  have  been  expressing  my  sympathies,  during 
the  extremity  of  his  anguish,  he  has  gasped,  '  Well, 
well,  it  might  have  been  worse.'  "  Miss  E sud- 
denly raised  her  handkerchief  t  i  her  eyes,  for  they 
were  overflowing. 

"  Do  you  see  that  beautiful  little  picture  hanging 
over  the  mantelpiece  V  she  inquired,  after  a  pause, 

which  neither  Dr.  D nor  1  seemed  inclined  to 

interrupt ;  pointing  to  an  exquisite  oil-painting  of  the 
crucifixion.  "  I  have  seen  my  poor  uncle  lying  down 
on  the  floor,  while  in  the  most  violent  paroxysms  of 


DIARV    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  311 

pain,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  intently  on  that  picture, 
exclaim, '  Thine  were  ^eater ;  thine  were  ^eater  !' 
And  then  he  has  presently  clasped  his  hands  up- 
wards, a  smile  has  beamed  upon  his  pallid,  quiv- 
ering features,  and  he  has  told  me  the  pain  was 
abated." 

"  I  was  once  present  during  one  of  these  painfully 

interesting  scenes,"  said  Dr.  D ,  "  and  have  seen 

such  a  heavenly  radiance  on  his  countenance  as 
could  not  have  been  occasioned  by  the  mere  sudden 
cessation  of  the  anguish  he  had  been  suffering." 

"  Does  not  this  strange  disorder  abate  with  his  in- 
creasing years  ]"  I  inquired. 

"  Alas,  no !"  replied  Miss  E ;  "  but  is,  if  pos- 
sible, more  frequent  and  severe  in  its  seizures.  In- 
deed, we  all  think  it  is  wearing  him  out  fast.  But 
for  the  unwearied  services  of  that  faithful  creature, 
Joseph,  who  sleeps  in  the  same  room  with  him,  my 
uncle  must  have  died  long  ago." 

"  How  did  this  terrible  disorder  attack  Mr.  E , 

and  when  ]"  I  inquired.  I  was  informed  that  he 
himself  originated  the  complaint  with  an  injury  he 
sustained  when  a  very  young  man.  He  was  riding 
one   day   on  horseback  ;    and  his  horse  suddenly 

reared  backward,  and  Mr.  E 's  back  came  in 

violent  contact  with  a  plank  projecting  from  behind 
a  cart  loaded  with  timber.  He  was,  besides,  how- 
ever, subject  to  a  constitutional  feebleness  in  the 
spine,  derived  from  his  father  and  grandfather.  He 
had  consulted  almost  every  surgeon  of  eminence  in 
England,  and  a  few  on  the  Continent;  and  spent 
a  little  fortune  among  them, — but  all  had  been  in 
vain! 

"  Really,  you  will  be  quite  surprised.  Dr. ," 

said  Miss  E ,  "  to  know,  that   though  such   a 

martyr  to  pain,  and  now  in  his  sixty-fourth  year,  my 
uncle  is  more  active  in  his  habits  and  regular  in  his 
hours  than  I  ever  knew  any  one.  He  rises  almost 
invariably  at  four  o'clock  in  summer,  and  at  six  iii 


312  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

■winter ;  and  this,  though  so  helpless,  that  without 
Joseph's  assistance  he  could  not  dress  himself — ." 

"Ah,  by-the-way," — interrupted  Dr. D ,  "that  is 

another  peculiarity  in  Mr.  E 's  case ;  he  is  subject 

to  a  sort  of  nightly  paralysis  of  the  upper  extremities, 
from  which  he  does  not  completely  recover  till  he 
has  been  up  for  some  two  or  three  hours."  How 
little  had  I  thought  of  the  under-current  of  agony, 
flowing  incessantly  beneath  the  calm  surface  of  his 
cheerful  and  dignified  demeanour !  Oh,  philosophy 
— Oh,  Christian  philosophy ! — I  had  failed  to  detect 
any  marks  of  suffering  in  his  features,  though  I  had 
now  had  two  interviews  with  him — so  completely, 
even  hitherto,  had  "his  unconquerable  mind  con- 
quered the  clay," — as  one  of  our  old  writers  expresses 
it.     If  I  had  admired  and  respected  him  heretofore, 

on  the  ground  of  Dr.  D 's  opinion,  how  did  I  now 

feel  disposed  to  adore  him !  I  looked  on  him  as  an 
instance  of  long-tried  heroism  and  fortitude,  almost 
unparalleled  in  the  history  of  man.     Such  thoughts 

were  passing  through  my  mind  when  Mr.  E 

re-entered  the  room.  What  I  had  heard  during  his 
absence  made  me  now  look  on  him  with  tenfold 
interest.  I  wondered  that  I  had  overlooked  his 
stoop,  and  the  permanent  print  of  pain  on  his  pallid 
cheek.  I  gazed  at  him,  in  short,  with  feelings  of 
sympathy  and  reverence,  akin  to  those  called  forth 
by  a  picture  of  one  of  the  ancient  martyrs. 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  been  deprived  of  your  com- 
pany so  long,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  have  had  to  answer 
an  invitation,  and  several  questions  besides,  from — 
I  dare  say  you  know  whom  ?"  addressing  Dr.  D . 

"  1  can  guess,  on  the  principle  ex  wigue — the  gaudy 
livery  '  vaunts  of  royalty' — eh  ?     Is  it V 

"  Yes.     He  has  invited  me  to  dine  with  Lord , 

Sir ,  and  several  other  members  of  the 

Society,  at ,  this  day  week,  but  I  have  declined. 

At  my  time  of  life  I  can't  stand  late  hours  and  excite- 
ment.   Besides,  one  must  learn  betimes  to  wean 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  313 

from  the  world,  or  be  suddenly  snatched  from 'it 

screaming  like  a  child,"  said  Mr.  E ,  with  an 

impressive  air. 

"  I  believe  you  are  particularly  intimate  with ; 

at  least  I  have  heard  so.  Are  you  V  inquired  Dr. 
D . 

"  No.     I  might  possibly  have  been  so,  for 

has  shown  great  consideration  towards  me;  but  I 
can  assure  you,  I  am  the  sought  rather  than  the 
seeker,  and  have  been  all  my  life." 

"  It  is  often  fatal  to  philosophical  independence  to 
approach  too  frequently  and  too  nearly  the  magic 
circle  of  the  court,"  said  I. 

"  True.  Science  is,  and  should  be,  aspiring.  So 
is  the  eagle  ;  but  the  royal  bird  never  approaches  so 

near  the  sun  as  to  be  drowned  in  its  blaze.  has 

been  nothing  since  he  became  a  courtier."  *     *     * 

"What   do  you  think  of  's  pretensions  to 

science  generally,  and  his  motives  for  seeking  so 
anxiously  the  intimacy  of  the  learned?"  inquired 
Dr.  D . 

"  Why, ,"  replied  E ,  with  some  hesita- 
tion ;  "  'tis  a  wonderful  thing  for  him  to  know  even 
a  fiftieth  part  of  what  he  does.  He  is  popularly 
acquainted  with  the  outlines  of  most  of  the  leading 
sciences.    He  went  through  a  regular  course  of 

readings  with  my  friend ;  but  he  has  not  the  time 

necessary  to  ensure  a  successful  prosecution  of 
science.  It  is,  however,  infinitely  advantageous  to 
science  and  literature  to  have  the  willing  and  active 
patronage  of  royalty.  I  never  knew  him  exhibit  one 
trait  of  overbearing  dogmatism ;  and  that  is  saying 
much  for  one  whom  all  flatter  always.  It  has  struck 
me,  however,  that  he  has  rather  too  anxious  an  eye 
towards  securing  the  character  and  applause  of  a 
Mecanas." 

"  Pray,  Mr.  E ,  do  you  recollect  mentioning  to 

me  an  incident  which  occurred  at  a  large  dimier- 

party  given  by ,  when  you  were  present,  when 

Dd 


314  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

Dr. made  use  of  these  words  to :  *  Does  not 

your think  it  possible  for  a  man  to  pelt  another 

with  potatoes,  to  provoke  him  to  fling  peaches  in  retimi, 
for  want  of  other  missiles  /" — and  the  furious  answer 
was ." 

"  We  will  drop  that  subject,  if  you  please,"  said 

E ,  coldly,  at  the  same  time  colouring,  and  giving 

my  friend  a  peculiar  monitory  look. 

"  I  know  well,  personally,  that has  done  very 

many  noble  things  in  his  day — most  of  them,  com- 
paratively, in  secret ;  and  one  munificent  action  he 
has  performed  lately  towards  a  man  of  scientific 
eminence,  who  has  been  as  unfortunate  as  he  is  de- 
serving, which  will  probably  never  come  to  the  public 

ear,  unless  and  die  suddenly,"  said  Mr. 

E .     He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words,  when 

he  turned  suddenly  pale,  laid  down  his  teacup  with 
a  quivering  hand,  and  slipped  slowly  from  his  chair 
to  the  floor,  where  he  lay  at  his  full  length,  rolling  to 
and  fro,  with  his  hands  pressed  upon  the  lower  part 
of  his  spine — and  all  the  while  uttering  deep  sighs 
and  groans.  The  big  drops  of  perspiration  rolling 
from  his  forehead  down  his  cheeks,  evidenced  the 

dreadful  agony  he  was  enduring.     Dr.  D and  I 

both  knelt  down  on  one  knee  by  his  side,  proffering 
our  assistance — but  he  entreated  us  to  leave  him  to 
himself  for  a  few  moments,  and  he  should  soon  be 
better. 

"  Emma !"  he  gasped,  calling  his  niece — who,  sob- 
bing bitterly,  was  at  his  side  in  a  moment,  "  kiss 
me — that's  a  dear  girl — and  go  up  to  bed — but,  on 
your  way,  send  Joseph  here  directly."  She  retired, 
and  in  a  few  moments  Joseph  entered  hastily, with  a 
broad  leathern  band,  which  he  drew  round  his  mas- 
ter's waist  and  buckled  tightly.  He  then  pressed 
with  both  his  hands  for  some  time  upon  the  imme- 
diate seat  of  the  pain.  Our  situation  was  both  em- 
barrassing and  distressing — both  of  us  medical  men, 
and  yet  compelled  to  stand  by  mere  passive  spec- 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  315 

tators  of  agonies  we  could  neither  alleviate  nor 
remove. 

"  Do  you  absolutely  despair  of  discovering  what 
the  precise  nature  of  this  complaint  is  ?"  I  inquired 
in  an  under-tone. 

"  Yes — in  common  with  every  one  else  that  has 
tried  to  discover  it,  but  in  vain.  That  it  is  an  affec- 
tion of  the  spinal  chord  is  clear ;  but  what  is  the 
immediate  exciting  cause  of  these  tremendous  parox- 
ysms I  cannot  conjecture,"  replied  Dr.  D . 

"  Wliat  have  been  the  principal  remedies  resorted 
tol" 

"  Oh,  every  thing — almost  every  thing  that  the  wit 
of  man  could  devise  :  local  and  general  bleedings  to 
a  dreadful  extent ;  irritations  and  counter-irritations 
without  end  ;  electricity — galvanism — all  the  re- 
sources of  medicine  and  surgery  have  been  ran- 
sacked to  no  purpose. — Look  at  him !"  wliispered 

Dr.  D ,  "  look — look ; — do  you  see  how  his  whole 

body  is  drawn  together  in  a  heap,  while  his  limbs  are 
quivering  as  though  they  would  fall  from  him] — See 
— see — how  they  are  now  struck  out,  and  plunging 
about,  his  hands  clutching  convulsively  at  the  carpet 
— scarce  a  trace  of  humanity  in  his  distorted  fea- 
tures— as  if  this  great  and  good  man  were  the  sport 
of  a  demon !" 

"  Oh  !  gracious  God  !  Can  we  do  nothing  to  help 
him  ?"  I  inquired,  suddenly  approaching  him,  almost 

stifled  with  my  emotions.     Mr.  E did  not  seem 

conscious  of  our  approach;  but  lay  rather  quieter, 
groaning — "  Oh — oh — oh — that  it  would  please  God 
to  dismiss  me  from  my  sufferings  !" 

"  My  dear,  dear  ^Ir.  E ,"  exclaimed  Dr.  D , 

excessively  agitated,  "  can  we  do  nothing  for  you  ? 
Canit  we  be  of  any  service  to  you  V 

"  Oh,  none — none — none  !"  he  groaned,  in  tones 
expressive  of  utter  hopelessness.  For  more  than  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  did  this  victim  of  disease  con- 
tinue writhing  on  the  floor,  and  we  standing  by, 


316  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

<*  physicians  of  no  value !"    The  violence  of  the  par- 
oxysm abated  at  length,  and  again  we  stooped,  for 

the  purpose  of  raising  him  and  carrying  him  to  the  ! 

sofa — but  he  motioned  us  off,  exclaiming  so  faintly  | 

as  to  be  almost  inaudible — "  No — no,  thank  you — I  \ 

must  not  be  moved  for  this  hour — and  when  I  am,  it  i 
must  be  to  bed." — "Then  we  will  bid  you  good 

evening,  and  pray  to  God  you  may  be  better  in  the  j 
morning."  —  "Yes — yes.  —  Better — better:    good — 

good-by,"  he  muttered,  indistinctly.  ; 

"  Master's  falling  asleep,  gentlemen,  as  he  always  ! 

does  after  these  fits,"  said  Joseph,  who  had  his  arm  \ 
round  his  suffering  master's  neck.     We,  of  course, 

left  immediately,  and  met  Miss  E in  the  passage,  ; 

muflHed  in  her  shawl,  and  sobbing  as  if  she  would  \ 

break  her  heart.  ! 

Dr.  D told  me  as  we  were  walking  home,  that  I 

about  two  years  ago,  E made  a  week's  stay  with  i 

him ;  and  that,  on  one  occasion,  he  endured  agonies  , 
of  such  horrible  intensity,  as  nothing  could  abate,  or  i 
in  any  measure  alleviate,  but  two  doses  of  laudanum 
of  nearly  six  drachms  each,  within  half  an  hour  of  ; 
each  other ;  and  that  even  then  he  did  not  sleep  for  i 
more   than  two  hours.     "When  he  awoke,"  con-  j 
tinned  my  friend,  "  he  was  lying  on  the  sofa  in  a 
state  of  dreadful  exhaustion,  the  perspiration  run- 
ning from  him  like  water.     I  asked  him  if  he  did  not  | 
sometimes  yield  to  such  thoughts  as  w^ere  suggested  j 
to  Job  by  his  impetuous  friends — to  '  curse  God  and  \ 
die,' — to  repine  at  the  long  and  lingering  tortures  he  j 
had  endured  nearly  all  his  life,  for  no  apparent  crime  ' 
of  his  own  ?"    "  No,  no,"  he  replied,  calmly  ;  ".I've 
suffered  too  long  an  apprenticeship  to  pain  for  that-* 
I  own  I  was  at  first   a  little  disobedient — a  little  i 
restive — but  now  I  am  learning  resignation !    Would  1 
not  useless  fretting  serve  to  enhance — to  aggravate 
jny  pains !"  i 

"  Well !"  I  exclaimed,  "  it  puzzles  my  theology— 

if  any  thing  could  make  me  skeptical."    E saw  \ 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICUN.  317 

the  train  of  my  thoughts,  and  interrupted^  me,  laying 
his  white  wasted  hand  on  mine — "  I  always  strive  to 
bear  in  mind  that  I  am  in  the  hands  of  a  God  as 
GOOD  as  great,  and  that  I  am  not  to  doubt  his  good- 
ness because  I  cannot  exactly  see  how  he  brings  it 
about.  Doubtless  there  are  reasons  for  my  suffering 
what  I  do,  which,  though  at  present  incomprehensi- 
ble to  me,  would  appear  abundantly  satisfactory  could 

I  be  made  acquainted  with  them.     Oh,  Dr.  D , 

what  would  become  of  me,"  said  E ,  solemnly, 

"  were  I,  instead  of  the  rich  consolations  of  religion, 
to  have  nothing  to  rely  on  but  the  disheartening 
speculations  of  infidelity? — if  in  this  world  only  I 
have  hope,"  he  continued,  looking  steadfastly  up- 
wards ,"  I  am,  of  all  men,  most  miserable  !" — "  Is  not 
it  dangerous  to  know  such  a  man,  lest  one  should  feel 
inclined  to  fall  down  and  worship  him  V  inquired 

my  friend.     Indeed  I  thought  so.     Surely  E was 

a  miracle  of  patience  and  fortitude  !  and  how  he  had 
contrived  to  make  his  splendid  advancements  in 
science,  while  subject  to  such  almost  unheard-of  tor- 
tures, both  as  to  duration  and  intensity — had  de- 
voted himself  so  successfully  to  the  prosecution  of 
studies  requiring  habits  of  long,  patient,  profound 
abstraction — was  to  me  inconceivable. 

How  few  of  us  are  aware  of  what  is  suffered  by 
those  with  whom  we  are  most  intimate !  How  few 
know  the  heavy  counterbalancings  of  popularity  and 
eminence ;  the  exquisite  agonies,  whether  physical 
or  intellectual,  inflicted  by  one  irremoveable  "thorn 
in  the  flesh!"  Oh!  the  miseries  of  that  eminence 
whose  chief  prerogative  too  often  is — 

"  Above  the  vulgar  herd  to  rot  in  state !" 

How  little  had  I  thought,  while  gazing  at  the  

rooms,  on  this  admirable  man,  first  fascinated  with 
the  placidity  of  his  noble  features,  that  I  looked  at 
one  who  had  equal  claims  to  the  character  of  a  mar- 
Dd2 


318  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

TYR  and  a  philosopher !  How  my  own  petty  griev- 
ances dwindled  away  in  comparison  of  those  endured 

by  E !    How  contemptible  the  pusillanimity  I  had 

often  exhibited ! 

And  do  YOU,  reader,  who,  if  a  man,  are,  perhaps, 
in  the  habit  of  cursing  and  blaspheming  while  smart- 
ing under  the  toothache,  or  any  of  those  minor  "  ills 
that  flesh  is  heir  to,"  think,  at  such  times,  of  poor, 
meek,  suffering  E ,  and  be  silent ! 

I  could  not  dismiss  from  my  mind  the  painful  image 
of  E writhing  on  the  floor,  as  I  have  above  de- 
scribed, but  lay  the  greater  part  of  the  night  reflect- 
ing on  the  probable  nature  of  his  unusual  disorder. 
Was  it  any  thing  of  a  spasmodic  nature  ?  Would  not 
such  attacks  have  worn  him  out  long  ago  ]  Was  it 
one  of  the  remoter  effects  of  partial  paralysis  1  Was  a 
preternatural  pressure  on  the  spinal  chord,  occasioned 
by  fracture  of  one  of  the  vertebras,  or  enlargement  of 
the  intervertebral  ligaments  1 — Or  was  it  owing  to  a 
thickness  of  the  medulla-spinalis  itself  ] 

Fifty  similar  conjectures  passed  through  my  mind, 
excited  as  well  by  the  singularity  of  the  disease,  as 
by  sympathy  for  the  sufferer.  Before  I  fell  asleep,  I 
resolved  to  call  on  him  during  the  next  day,  and 
inquire  carefully  into  the  nature  of  his  symptoms, 
in  the  forlorn  hope  of  hitting  on  some  means  of  miti- 
gating his  sufferings. 

By  twelve  o'clock  at  noon  I  was  set  down  again 
at  his  door.  A  maid-servant  answered  my  sum- 
mons, and  told  me  that  Mr.  E and  Joseph  were 

busily  engaged  in  the  "  lahhory .'"  She  took  in  my 
card  to  him,  and  returned  with  her  master's  compli- 
ments, and  he  would  thank  me  to  step  in.  I  followed 
the  girl  to  the  laboratory.     On  opening  the  door,  I 

saw  E and  his  trusty  work-fellow,  Joseph,  busily 

engaged  fusing  some  species  of  metal.  The  former 
was  dressed  as  on  the  preceding  evening,  with  the 
addition  of  a  long  black  apron, — looked  heated  and 
flushed  with  exercise  ;  and,  with  his  stooping  gait, 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  319 

was  holding  some  small  implement  over  the  furnace, 
while  Joseph,  on  his  knees,  was  puffing  away  at  the 
fire  with  a  small  pair  of  bellows. — To  anticipate  for  a 

moment :  how  little  did  E or  I  imagine  that  this 

was  very  nearly  the  last  time  of  his  ever  again  entering 
the  scene  of  his  long  and  useful  scientific  labours  ! 

I  was  utterly  astonished  to  see  one  whose  suffer- 
ings over  night  had  been  so  dreadful,  quietly  pursuing 
his  avocations  in  the  morning  as  though  nothing  had 
happened  to  him! 

"  Excuse  my  shaking  hands  with  you  for  the  pres- 
ent,  doctor,"  said  E ,  looking  at  me  through  a 

huge  pair  of  tortoise-shell  spectacles, "  for  both  hands 

are  engaged,  you  see.     My  friend  Dr. has  just 

sent  me  a  piece  of  platina,  and  you  see  I'm  already 
playing  pranks  with  it !  Really,  I'm  as  eager  to  spoil 
a  plaything  to  see  what  my  rattle's  made  of  as  any 
philosophical  child  in  the  kingdom  !  Here  I  am  an- 
alyzing— dissolving — transmuting — and  so  on  : — but 
IVe  really  an  important  end  in  view  here — trying  a 

new  combination  of  metal,  and  Dr. is  anxious 

to  know  if  the  result  of  my  process  corresponds  with 

his — now,  now,  Joseph,"  said  E ,  breaking  off 

suddenly,  "  it  is  ready  ;  bring  the — "  At  this  critical 
instant,  by  some  unlucky  accident,  poor  Joseph  sud- 
denly overthrew  the  whole  apparatus — and  the  com- 
pounds, ashes,  fragments,  &c.  were  spilled  on  the 
floor !  Really,  I  quite  lost  my  own  temper  with 
thinking  of  the  vexatious  disappointment  it  would 
be  to  E .     Not  so,  however,  with  him. 

"  Oh,  dear — dear,  dear  me  !  ^Yell,  here's  an  end 
of  our  day's  work  before  we  thought  of  it !     How 

did  you  do  it,  Joseph,  eh  ]"  said  E^^ ,  with  an  air 

of  chagrin,  but  with  perfect  mildness  of  tone.  What 
a  ludicrous  contrast  between  the  philosopher  and  his 
assistant !  The  latter,  an  obese  little  fellow,  with  a 
droll  cast  of  one  eye — was  quite  red  in  the  face,  and 
wringing  his  hands,  exclaimed — "  Oh  Lord — oh  Lord 
—Oh  Lord !  what  could  I  have  been  doing,  master?" 


320  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

— "Why,  that's  surely  your  concern   more   than 

mine,"  replied  E ,  smiling  at  me.     "  Come,  come, 

it  can't  be  helped — you've  done  yourself  more  harm 

than  me,  by  giving  Dr. such  a  specimen  of  your 

awkwardness  as  /  have  not  seen  for  many  a  month. 
See  and  set  things  to  rights  as  soon  as  possible," 

said  E ,  calmly,  and  putting  away  his  spectacles. 

"  Well,  Dr. ,  what  do  you  think  of  my  little 

workshop  V  he  continued,  addressing  me,  who  still 
stood  with  my  hat  and  gloves  on,  surprised  and  de- 
liglited  to  see  that  his  temper  had  stood  this  trial, 
and  that  such  a  provoking  contre-temjJs'h'd.A  really  not 
at  all  ruffled  him.  From  the  position  in  which  he 
stood,  the  light  fell  strongly  on  his  face,  and  I  saw 
his  features  more  distinctly  than  heretofore.  I  no- 
ticed that  sure  index  of  a  thinking  countenance — 
three  strong  perpendicular  marks  or  folds  between 
the  eyebrows,  at  right  angles  with  the  deep  wrinkles 
that  furrowed  his  forehead,  and  then  the  "  untroubled 
lustre"  of  his  cold,  clear,  full,  blue  eyes,  rich  and 
serene  as  that 

"  through  whose  clear  medium  the  great  sun 

Lovetk  to  shoot  his  beams,  all  brightening,  all 
Turning  lo  gold." 

Reader,  when  you  see  a  face  of  this  stamp,  so  marked, 
and  with  such  eyes  and  forehead,  rest  assured  you 
are  looking  at  a  gifted,  if  not  an  extraordinary  man. 
The  lower  features  were  somewhat  shrunk  and  sal- 
low— as  well  they  might,  if  only  from  a  thousand 
hours  of  agony,  setting  aside  the  constant  wearing 
of  his  "  ever-waking  mind ;"  yet  a  smile  of  cheer- 
fulness— call  it  rather  resignation — irradiated  his  pale 
countenance,  like  twilight  on  a  sepulchre.  He 
showed  me  round  his  laboratory,  which  was  kept  in 
most  exemplary  cleanliness  and  order ;  and  then, 
opening  a  door,  we  entered  the  "  sanctum  sancto- 
rum"— his  study.  It  had  not  more,  I  should  think, 
than  five  or  six  hundred  books  ;  but  all  of  them— in 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  321 

plain,  substantial  bindings — had  manifestly  seen  good 
service.  Immediately  beneath  the  window  stood 
several  portions  of  a  splendid  astronomical  appa- 
ratus— a  very  large  telescope,  in  exquisite  order — a 
recently  invented  instrument  for  calculating  the  par- 
allaxes of  the  fixed  stars — a  chronometer  of  his  own 
construction,  &c.  "  Do  you  see  this  piece  of  furni- 
ture ]"  he  inquired,  directing  my  attention  to  a  sort 
of  sideless  sofa,  or  broad  inclined  plane,  stuffed,  the 
extremity  turned  up,  to  rest  the  feet  against — and 
being  at  an  angle  of  about  forty-five  degrees  with 
the  floor.  "  Ah  !  could  that  thing  speak,  it  might  tell 
a  tale  of  my  tortures,  such  as  no  living  being  may  ! 
For,  when  I  feel  my  daily  paroxysms  coming  on  me, 
if  I  am  any  where  near  my  study,  1  lay  my  wearied 
limbs  here,  and  continue  till  I  find  relief !"  This  put 
conversation  into  the  very  train  I  wished.  I  begged 
him  to  favour  me  with  a  description  of  his  disease ; 
and  he  sat  down  and  complied.  I  recollect  him  com- 
paring the  pain  to  that  which  might  follow  the  in- 
cessant stinging  of  a  wasp  at  the  spinal  marrow — 
sudden,  lacerating,  accompanied  by  quivering  sensa- 
tions throughout  the  whole  nervous  system — fol- 
lowed by  a  strange  sense  of  numbness.  He  said  that 
at  other  times  it  was  as  though  some  one  was  in  the 
act  of  drilling  a  hole  through  his  backbone,  and 
piercing  the  marrow  !  Sometimes,  during  the  mo- 
ments of  his  most  ecstatic  agonies,  he  felt  as  thougli 
his  backbone  was  rent  asunder  all  the  way  up.  The 
pain  was,  on  the  whole,  local — confined  to  the  first  of 
the  lumbar  vertebrae;  but  occasionally  fluctuating 
between  them  and  the  dorsal.  When  he  had  finished 
the  dreary  details  of  his  disease,  I  was  obliged  to 
acknowledge,  with  a  sigh,  that  nothing  suggested 
itself  to  me  as  a  remed}*,  but  what  I  understood  from 

Dr.  D had  been  tried  over  and  over,  and  over 

again. — "You  are  right,"  he  replied,  sorrowfully. 
"  Dreadful  as  are  my  sufferings,  the  bare  thought  of 
undergoing  more  medical  or  surgical  treatment 
makes  me  shudder.    My  back  is  already  frightfully 


322  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

disfigured  with  the  searings  of  caustic,  seaton-marks, 
cupping,  and  blistering ; — and  I  hope  God  will  give 
me  patience  to  wait  till  their  perpetual  knockings,  as 
it  were,  shall  have  at  length  battered  down  this  frail 
structure." 

"  Mr.  E ,  you  rival  some  of  the  old  martyrs !" 

said  I,  as  we  rose  to  leave  the  study. 

"In  point  of  bodily  suffering,  I  may;  but  their 
holiness  !  those  who  are  put  into  the  keenest  parts — 
the  very  heart  of  the  '  fiery  furnace' — will  come  out 
most  refined  at  last !" 

"Well,  you  may  be  earning  a  glorious  reward 
hereafter  for  your  constancy — " 

"  Or  I  may  be  merely  smarting  for  the  sins  of  my 
forefathers!"  exclaimed  E ,  mournfully. 


Monday,  July,  18 — .     Having  been  called  to  a 

patient  in  the  neighbourhood  of  E ,  I  took  that 

opportunity  of  calling  upon  him  on  my  return.  It 
was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening ;  and  I  found 
the  philosopher  sitting  pensively  in  the  parlour 
alone;  for  his  niece,  I  learned,  had  retired  early, 
owing  to  indisposition.  A  peculiar  semicircular 
lamp,  of  his  own  contrivance,  stood  on  the  table, 
which  was  strewed  with  books,  pamphlets,  and 
papers.  He  received  me  with  his  usual  gentle 
affability. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  feel  in  a  singular  mood 
of  mind  to-night,"  said  he ;  "I  ought  to  say  rather 
many  moods :  sometimes  so  suddenly  and  strongly 
excited,  as  to  lose  the  control  over  my  emotions — at 
others,  sinking  into  the  depths  of  despondenc}^  I've 
been  trying  for  these  two  hours  to  glance  over  this 
new  view  of  the  Neptunian  theory,"  pointing  to  an 

open  book  on  the  table,  "  which has  sent  me,  to 

review  for  him  in  the  — — ;  but  'tis  useless  ;  I  cannot 
command  my  thoughts."  I  felt  his  pulse:  it  was 
one  of  the  most  irregular  I  had  ever  known.  "I 
know  what  you  suspect,"  said  he,  observing  my  eyes 
fixed  with  a  puzzled  air  on  my  watch,  and  my 


DIARY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  323 

finger  at  his  wrist,  for  several  minutes ;  "  some  or- 
ganic mischief  at  the  heart.  Several  of  your  frater- 
nity have  latterly  comforted  me  Avith  assurances  to 
that  effect."  I  assured  him  I  did  not  apprehend  any 
thing  of  the  kind,  but  merely  that  his  circulation 
was  a  little  disturbed  by  recent  excitement. 

*'  True — true,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  a  little  flustered, 
as  the  phrase  is — " 

"  Oh — here's  the  secret,  I  suppose  V  said  I,  reach- 
ing to  a  periodical  publication  of  the  month,  lying 
on  the  table,  and  in  which  I  had  a  few  days  ago  read 
a  somewhat  virulent  attack  on  him.  "  You're  very 
rudely  handled  here,  I  think?"  said  I. 

"  What,  do  3-0U  think  that  has  discomposed  me  ?" 
he  inquired,  with  a  smile.  "  No,  no — I'm  past  feeling 
these  things  long  ago  !  Abuse — mere  personality — 
now  excites  in  me  no  emotion  of  any  kind !" 

f  "  Why,  Mr.  E ,  surely  you  are  not  indifferent 

to  the  opinion  of  the  public,  which  may  be  misled 
by  such  things  as  these,  if  suffered  to  go  iman- 
swered  V 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  that.  If  I've  done  any  thing 
good  in  my  time,  as  I  have  honestly  tried  to  do,  sen- 
sible people  won't  believe  me  an  impostor,  at  any 
man's  bidding.  Those  who  iscoidd  be  so  influenced 
are  hardly  worth  undeceiving."* 

*  *  ".There's  a  good  deal  of  acuteness  in  the  paper, 
and  in  one  particular,  the  reviewer  has  fairly  caught 
me  tripping.  He  may  laugh  at  me  as  much  as  he 
pleases ;  but  why  go  about  to  put  himself  in  a  pas- 
sion? The  subject  did  not  require  it.  But  if  he  is 
in  a  passion,  should  I  not  be  foolish  to  be  in  one  too  % 
— Passion  serves  only  to  put  out  truth ;  and  no  one 
would  indulge  it  that  had  truth  only  in  vie^v.  *    * 

*  "  This  gentleman's  speculations  have  lon^  served  to  amuse  children 
and  old  people  :  now  that  he  has  become  old  himself,  he  also  may  hope 
for  amusement  from  them." — •'  This  mountain  has  so  long  brought  forth 
mice,  th;it,  now  it  has  become  enfeebled  and  worn  out.  it  may  amuse 
Jiself  with  looking  after  its  progeny." — '•  Chimeras  of  a  diseased  brain," 
—"Quackery."— iJerifii'.  [Neither  the  Edinburgh  nor  Quarterly.]  Jfr. 
E knew  who  was  the  ivriter  of  this  article. 


324  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

The  real  occasion  of  my  nervousness,"  he  continued, 
*'  is  far  different  from  what  you  have  supposed — a 
little  incident  which  occurred  only  this  evening,  and 
I  will  tell  it  you. 

"  My  niece,  feeling  poorly  with  a  cold,  retired  to 
bed  as  soon  as  she  had  done  tea ;  and  after  sitting 
here  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  took  one  of  the 
candles,  and  walked  to  the  laboratory,  tc  see  whether 
all  was  right — as  is  my  custom  every  evening.  On 
opening  the  door,  to  my  very  great  amazement,  I 
saw  a  stranger  in  it,  a  gentleman  in  dark-coloured 
clothes,  holding  a  dim  taper  in  one  hand,  and  en- 
gaged in  going  round  the  room,  apparently  putting 
all  my  instruments  in  order.  I  stood  at  the  door 
almost  petrified,  watching  his  movements,  without 
thinking  of  interrupting  them,  for  a  sudden  feehng 
of  something  like  awe  crept  over  me.  He  made  no 
noise  whatever,  and  did  not  seem  aware  that  any 
one  was  looking  at  him — or  if  he  was,  he  did  not 
seem  disposed  to  notice  the  interruption.  I  saw  him 
as  clearly,  and  what  he  was  doing,  as  I  now  see  you 
playing  with  your  gloves !  He  was  engaged  leisurely 
putting  away  all  my  loose  implements, — shutting 
boxes,  cases,  and  cupboards,  with  the  accuracy  of 
one  who  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  his 
work.  Having  thus  disposed  of  all  the  instruments 
and  apparatus  which  had  been  used  to-day — and  we 
have  had  very  many  more  than  usual  out — he  opened 
the  inner-door  leading  to  the  study,  and  entered — I 
following  in  mute  astonishment.  He  went  to  work 
the  same  way  in  the  study ;  shutting  up  several  vol- 
umes that  lay  open  on  the  table,  and  carefully  replac- 
ing them  in  their  proper  places  on  the  shelves. 

"  Having  cleared  away  these,  he  approached  the 
astronomical  apparatus  near  the  window,  put  the  cap 
on  the  object-end  of  the  telescope,  pushed  in  the 
joints,  all  noiselessly,  closed  up  in  its  case  my  new 
chronometer,  and  then  returned  to  the  table  where 
my  desk  lay,  took  up  the  inkstand,  poured  out  the 


DIARY   OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  325 

ink  into  the  fireplace,  flung  all  the  pens  under  the 
grate,  and  then  shut  the  desk,  locked  it,  and  laid  the 
key  on  the  top  of  it.  When  he  had  done  all  this, 
he  walked  towards  the  wall,  and  turned  slowly 
towards  me,  looked  me  full  in  the  face,  and  shook 
his  head  mournfully.  The  taper  he  held  in  his  hand 
slowly  expired — and  the  spectre,  if  such  it  were, 
disappeared.  The  strangest  part  of  the  story  is  yet 
to  follow.  The  pale,  fixed  features  seemed  perfectly 
familiar  to  me — they  were  those  ^vhich  I  had  often 
gazed  at,  in  a  portrait  of  Mr.  Boyle,  prefixed  to  my 
quarto  copy  of  his  '  Treatise  of  Atmospheric  Air.' 
As  soon  as  I  had  a  little  recovered  my  self-possession, 
I  took  down  the  work  in  question,  and  examined  the 
portrait.  I  was  right !  I  cannot  account  for  my  not 
having  spoken  to  the  figure,  or  gone  close  up  to  it. 
I  thiiik  I  could  have  done  either,  as  far  as  courage 
went.  My  prevailing  idea  was,  that  a  single  word 
would  have  dissolved  the  charm,  and  my  curiosity 
prompted  me  to  see  it  out.  I  returned  to  the  parlour 
and  rung  the  bell  for  Joseph. 

"  '  Joseph,'  said  I, '  have  you  set  things  to  rights  in 
the  laboratory  and  study  to-night  ]" — '  Yes,  master,* 
he  replied,  with  surprise  in  his  manner ;  '  I  finished 
it  before  tea-time,  and  set  things  in  particular  good 
order — I  gave  both  the  rooms  a  right  good  cleaning 
out — I'm  sure  there's  not  even  a  pin  in  its  wrong 
place.' 

" '  What  made  you  fling  the  pens  and  ink  in  the 
fireplace  and  under  the  grate  V 

'  Because  I  thought  they  were  of  no  use — the 
pens  worn  to  stumps,  and  the  ink  thick  and  clotted — 
too  much  gu7n  in  it.'  He  was  evidently  astonished 
at  being  asked  such  questions — and  w^as  going  to 
explain  further,  when  1  said,  simply,  '  that  will  do,' 
and  he  retired.  Now,  what  am  I  to  think  of  all  this? 
If  it  were  a  mere  ocular  spectrum,  clothed  with  its 
functions  from  my  own  excited  fancy,  there  was  yet 
a  unity  of  purpose  in  its  doings  that  is  extraordinary ! 
Ee 


326  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

Something  very  much  like  '  shutting  up  the  shop'' — 
eh  ?"  inquired  E ,  with  a  melancholy  smile. 

"  'Tis  touching — very !  I  never  heard  a  more  sin- 
gular incident,"  I  replied,  abstractedly,  without  re- 
moving my  eyes  from  the  fire ;  for  my  reading  of  the 
occunence  was  a  sudden  and  strong  conviction,  that, 

ghost  or  no  ghost,  E had  toiled  his  last  in  the 

behalf  of  science — that  he  would  never  again  have 
occasion  to  use  his  philosophical  machinery !    This 

melancholy  presentiment  invested  E ,  and  all  he 

said  or  did,  with  tenfold  interest  in  my  eyes.  "  Don^t 
suppose,  doctor,  that  I  am  weak  enough  to  be  se- 
riously disturbed  by  the  occurrence  I  have  just  been 
mentioning.  Whether  or  not  it  really  portends  my 
approaching  death  I  know  not.  Though  I  am  not 
presumptuous  enough  to  suppose  myself  so  import- 
ant as  to  warrant  any  special  interference  of  Provi- 
dence on  my  behalf — yet  I  cannot  help  thinking  I 
am  to  look  on  this  as  a  warning — a  solemn  premo- 
nition— that  I  may '  set  my  house  in  order,  and  die.'" 

Our  conversation  during  the  remainder  of  our  inter- 
view turned  on  the  topic  suggested  by  the  affecting 
incident  just  related.     I  listened  to  all  he  uttered,  as 

to  the  words  of  a  doomed — a  dying  man !   All  E 

advanced  on  this  difficult  and  interesting  subject 
was  marked  not  less  by  sound  philosophy  than  un- 
feigned piety.  He  ended  with  avowing  his  belief, 
that  the  omnipotent  Being  who  formed  both  the 
body  and  the  soul,  and  willed  them  to  exist  unitedly, 
could  surely,  nevertheless,  if  he  saw  good,  cause  the 
one  to  exist  separately  from  the  other;  either  by  en- 
dowing it  with  nert)  properties  for  that  special  pur- 
pose, or  by  enabling  it  to  exercise,  in  its  disembodied 
state,  those  powers  which  continued  latent  in  it  during 
its  connexion  with  the  body.  Did  it  follow — he 
asked — that  neither  body  nor  soul  possessed  any, 
other  qualities  than  those  which  were  necessary  to 
enable  them  to  exist  together?  Why  should  the  soul 
be  incapable  of  a  substantially  distinct  personal  ex- 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  827 

istence  1  Where  the  impossibility  of  its  being  made 
visible  to  organs  of  sense  ?  Has  the  Almighty  no 
means  of  bringing  this  to  pass  1  Are  there  no  latent 
properties  in  the  organs  of  vision — no  subtle  sympa- 
thies with  immaterial  substances — which  are  yet  un- 
discovered— and  even  undiscoverable  1  Surely  this 
may  be  the  case — though  /lott-,  it  would  be  impossible 
to  conjecture.  He  saw  no  bad  philosophy,  he  said, 
in  this;  and  he  who  decided  the  question  in  the 
negative  before  he  had  brought  forward  some  evi- 
dence of  its  moral  or  physical  impossibility  was 
guilty  of  most  presumptuous  dogmatism. 

This  is  the  substance  of  his  opinions ;  but,  alas ! 
I  lack  the  chaste,  nervous,  philosophical  eloquence 
in  Avhich  they  were  clothed.  A  distinguished  living 
character  said  of  E ,  that  he  was  the  most  fasci- 
nating talker  on  abstruse  subjects  he  ever  heard.  I 
could  have  staid  all  night  listening  to  him.  In  fact, 
I  fear  I  did  trespass  on  his  politeness  even  to  incon- 
venience. I  staid  and  partook  of  his  supper — simple, 
frugal  fare — consisting  of  roasted  potatoes,  and  two 
tumblers  of  new  milk.  I  left  about  eleven:  my 
mind  occupied  but  with  one  wish,  all  the  way  home, 

— that  I  had  known  E intimately  for  as  many 

years  as  hours ! 

Two  days  afterward,  the  following  hurried  note 

was  put  into  my  hands,  from  my  friend  Dr.  D : 

"My  dear  ,  I  am  sure  you  M-ill  be   as  much 

affected  as  I  was,  at  hearing  that  our  inestimable 

friend  Mr.  E ,  had  a  sudden  stroke  of  the  palsy 

this  afternoon  about  two  o'clock,  from  which  I  very- 
much  fear  he  may  never  recover ;  for  this,  added  to 
his  advanced  age,  and  the  dreadful  chronic  complaint 
under  which  he  labours,  is  surely  sufficient  to  shatter 
the  small  remains  of  his  strength.     I  need  hardly 

say,  that  all  is  in  confusion  at .     I  am  going 

down  there  to-night,  and  shall  be  happy  to  drive  you 
down  also,  if  you  will  be  at  my  house  by  seven. 
Yours,"  &c.  &c.    I  was  grieved  and  agitated,  but  in 


328  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

nowise  surprised  at  this  intelligence.  What  passed 
the  last  time  I  saw  him  prepared  me  for  something 
of  this  kind ! 

On  arriving  in  the  evening  we  were  shown  into 

the  parlour,  where  sat  Miss  E in  a  paroxysm  of 

hysterical  weeping,  which  had  forced  her  a  few  mo- 
ments before  to  leave  her  uncle's  sick-room.  It  was 
some  time  before  we  could  calm  her  agitated  spirits, 
or  get  her  to  give  us  any  thing  like  a  connected  ac- 
count of  her  uncle's  sudden  illness.  "  Oh,  these  will 
tell  you  all !"  said  she,  sobbing,  and  taking  two  let- 
ters from  her  bosom,  one  of  which  bore  a  black  seal ; 
"  It  is  these  cruel  letters  that  have  broken  his  heart ! 
Both  came  by  the  same  post  this  morning  I"  She 
withdrew,  promising  to  send  for  us  when  all  was 
ready,  and  we  hastily  opened  the  two  letters  she  had 
left.  What  will  the  reader  suppose  were  the  two 
heavy  strokes  dealt  at  once  upon  the  head  of  Mr. 

E by  an  inscrutable  Providence  1    The  letter  I 

opened,  conveyed  the  intelligence  of  the  sudden 

death,  in  childbed,  of  Mrs. ,  his  only  daughter, 

to  whom  he  had  been  most  passionately  attached. 

The  letter  Dr.  D held  in  his  hand  disclosed  an 

instance  of  almost  unparalleled  perfidy  and  ingrati- 
tude.    I  shall  here  state  what  I  learned  afterward — 

that  many  years  ago,  Mr.  E had  taken  a  poor  lad 

from  one  of  the  parish  schools,  pleased  with  his 
quickness  and  obedience,  and  had  apprenticed  him 
to  a  respectable  tradesman.     He  served  his  articles 

honourably,  and  Mr.  E nobly  advanced  him 

funds  to  establish  himself  in  business.  He  pros- 
pered beyond  every  one's   expectations :   and  the 

good,  generous,  confiding  E was  so  delighted 

with  his  conduct,  and  persuaded  of  his  principles, 
that  he  gradually  advanced  him  large  sums  of  money 
to  increase  an  extensive  connexion  ;  and,  at  last,  in- 
vested his  all,  amounting  to  little  short  of  £15,000, 
in  this  man's  concern,  for  which  he  received  5  per 
cent.    Sudden  success,  however,  turned  this  young 


DIARY    OF   A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  329 

man's  head ;  and  Mr.  E had  long-  been  uneasy  at 

hearing  current  rumours  about  his  protege's  unsteadi- 
ness and  extravagance.  He  had  several  times  spoken 
to  him  about  them ;  but  was  easily  persuaded  that 
the  reports  in  question  were  as  groundless  as  malig- 
nant. And  as  the  last  half-year's  interest  was  paid 
punctually,  accompanied  with  a  hint  that  if  doubts 
were  entertained  of  his  probity,  the  man  was  ready 

to  refund  a  great  part  of  the  principal,  Mr.  E 's 

confidence  revived.  Now,  the  letter  in  question  was 
from  this  person ;  and  stated  that,  though  "  circum- 
stances" had  compelled  him  to  withdraw  from  his 
creditors  for  the  present — in  other  words,  to  abscond — 

he  had  no  doubt  that  if  Mr.  E would  wait  a  little, 

he  should  in  time  be  able  to  pay  him  a  "  fair  dividend !" 

— "  Good  God !  why  E is  ruined  /"  exclaimed 

Dr.  D ,  turning  pale,  and  dropping  the  letter,  after 

having  read  it  to  me. 

"  Yes,  ruined ! — all  the  hard  savings  of  many  years' 
labour  and  economy  gone  at  a  stroke  !" 

"  WTiy,  was  all  his  small  fortune  embarked  in  this 
man's  concern  ]" 

"  All,  except  a  few  hundreds  lying  loose  at  his 
banker's  ! — What  is  to  become  of  poor  Miss  E ]" 

"  Cannot  this  infamous  scoundrel  be  brought  to 
justice  ]"  I  inquired. 

"  If  he  were,  he  may  prove,  perhaps,  not  worth 
powder  and  shot, — the  viper !' 

Similar  emotions  kept  us  both  silent  for  several 
moments. 

"  This  will  put  his  philosophy  to  a  dreadful  trial," 
said  I.  "  How  do  you  think  he  will  bear  it,  should 
he  recover  from  the  present  seizure  so  far  as  to  be 
made  sensible  of  the  extent  of  his  misfortunes  ?" 

"  Oh,  nobly,  nobly  !  I'll  pledge  my  existence  to  it ! 
He'll  bear  it  like  a  Christian,  as  well  as  a  pliiloso- 
pher  !     I've  seen  him  in  trouble  before  this." 

"  Is  Miss  E entirely  dependent  on  her  uncle  ; 

and  has  he  made  no  provision  for  her  ?" 
Ee2 


330  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

"  Alas !  he  had  appropriated  to  her  5000Z.  of  the 
15,000/.  in  this  man's  hands,  as  a  marriage-portion — 
I  know  it,  for  I  am  one  of  his  executors.  The  cir- 
cumstance of  leaving  her  thus  destitute  will,  I  know, 
prey  cruelly  on  his  mind."  Shortly  afterward  we 
were  summoned  into  the  chamber  of  the  venerable 
sufferer.  His  niece  sat  at  the  bedside,  near  his  head, 
holding  one  of  his  cold  motionless  hands  in  hers. 
Mr.  E 's  face,  deadly  pale,  and  damp  with  per- 
spiration, had  suffered  a  shocking  distortion  of  the 
features — the  left  eye  and  the  mouth  being  drawn 
downwards  to  the  left  side.  He  gazed  at  us  va- 
cantly, evidently  without  recognising  us,  as  we  took 
our  stations,  one  at  the  foot,  the  other  at  the  side  of 
the  bed.  What  a  melancholy  contrast  between  the 
present  expression  of  his  eyes,  and  that  of  acuteness 
and  brilliance  which  eminently  characterized  them 
in  health!  They  reminded  me  of  Milton's  sun, 
looking 

"  Through  the  horizontal  misty  air, 
Shorn  of  its  beams." 

The  distorted  lips  were  moving  about  incessantly, 
as  if  with  abortive  efforts  to  speak,  though  he  could 
utter  nothing  but  an  inarticulate  murmuring  sound, 
which  he  had  continued  almost  from  the  moment  of 
his  being  struck.  Was  it  not  a  piteous — a  heart- 
rending spectacle  ]     Was  this  the  philosopher  1 

After  making  due  inquiries,  and  ascertaining  the 
extent  of  the  injury  to  his  nervous  system,  we  with- 
drew to  consult  on  the  treatment  to  be  adopted.  In 
accounting  for  the  seizure,  I  considered  that  the  un- 
common quantities  of  laudanum  he  had  so  long  been 
in  the  habit  of  receiving  into  his  system  alone  suffi- 
ciently accounted  for  his  present  seizure.  Then, 
again,  the  disease  in  his  spine — the  consequent  ex- 
haustion of  his  energies — the  sedentary,  thoughtful 
life  he  led — all  these  were  at  least  predisposing 
causes.    The  sudden  shock  he  had  received  in  the 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  331 

morning  merely  accelerated  what  had  long  been  ad- 
vancing on  him.  We  both  anticipated  a  speedily 
fatal  issue,  and  resolved  to  take  the  earliest  oppor- 
tunity of  acquainting  him  with  his  approaching  end. 

[He  lies  in  nearly  the  same  state  during  Thursday 
and  Friday.] 

Saturday. — We  are  both  astonished  and  delighted 

to  find  that  E 's  daily  paroxysms  have  deserted 

him,  at  least  he  has  exhibited  no  symptoms  of  their 
appearance  up  to  this  day.  On  entering  the  room, 
we  found  to  our  inexpressible  satisfaction  that  his 
disorder  had  taken  a  very  unusual  and  happy  course 
— having  been  worked  out  of  the  system  by  Jever. 
This,  as  my  medical  readers  will  be  aware,  is  a  very 
rare  occurrence. — [Three  or  four  pages  of  the  Diary 
are  occupied  with  technical  details,  of  no  interest 
whatever  to  the  general  reader.] — His  features  were 
soon  restored  to  their  natural  position ;  and,  in  short, 
every  appearance  of  palsy  left  him. 

Sunday  evening. — Mr.  E going  on  well,  and 

his  mental  energies  and  speech  perfectly  restored.  I 
called  on  him  alone.  Almost  his  first  words  to  me 
were — "  Well,  doctor,  good  Mr.  Boyle  was  right,  you 
see !"    I  replied  that  it  yet  remained  to  be  proved. 

"  God  sent  me  a  noble  messenger  to  summon  me 
hence,  did  he  not  1  One  whose  character  has  always 
been  my  model,  as  far  as  I  could  imitate  his  great 
and  good  qualities." 

"  You  attach  too  much  weight,  Mr.  E ,  to  that 

creature  of  imaginatio]i" — 

"  What !  do  you  really  doubt  that  I  am  on  my 
death-bed  1  I  assuredly  shall  not  recover.  The 
pains  in  my  back  have  left  me,  that  my  end  may  be 
easy.  Ay,  ay,  the  '  silver  cord  is  loosed.'  "  I  in- 
quired about  the  sudden  cessation  of  his  chronic 
complaint.  He  said,  it  had  totally  disappeared  ; 
leaving  behmd  it  only  a  sensation  of  numbness.  "  In 
this  instance  of  His  mercy  towaixls  an  unworthy 
worm  of  the  earth,  I  devoutly  thank  my  Father — my 


332  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

God !"  he  exclaimed,  looking  reverentially  upward, 
— "  Oh,  how  could  I  in  patience  have  possessed  my 
soul,  if  to  the  pains  of  dying  had  been  superadded 
those  which  had  imbittered  life  ! — My  constant 
prayer  to  God  has  been,  that,  if  it  be  His  will,  my  life 
may  run  out  clear  to  the  last  drop ;  and  though  the 
stream  has  been  a  little  troubled,"  alluding  to  the  in- 
telligence which  had  occasioned  his  illness,  "  I  may 
yet  have  my  prayer  answered — Oh,  sweet  darling 
Anne  !  why  should  1  grieve  for  you  ?  Where  I  am 
going,  I  humbly  believe  you  are  !  Root  and  branch 
— both  gathered  home  !"  He  shed  tears  abundantly, 
but  spoke  of  the  dreadful  bereaverhent  in  terms  of 
perfect  resignation.  *  *  *  "  You  are  no  doubt 
acquainted,"  he  continued,  "  with  the  other  afflicting 
news,  which,  I  own,  has  cut  me  to  the  quick !  My 
confidence  has  been  betrayed, — my  sweet  niece's 
prospects  utterly  blighted, — and  I  made  a  beggar  of 
in  my  old  age.  This  ungrateful  man  has  squandered 
away  infamously  the  careful  savings  of  more  than 
thirty  years — every  penny  of  which  has  been  earned 
with  the  sweat  of  my  brow.  I  do  not  so  much  care 
for  it  myself,  as  I  have  still  enough  left  to  preserve 
me  from  want  during  the  few  remaining  days  I  have 
left  me  ;  but  my  poor,  dear  Emma !  My  heart  aches 
to  think  of  it !" 

"  I  hope  you  may  yet  recover  some  portion  of  your 

property,  Mr.  E :  the  man  speaks  in  his  letter 

of  paying  you  a  fair  dividend." 

"  No,  no ;  when  once  a  man  has  deliberately  acted 
in  such  an  unprincipled  manner  as  he  has,  it  is  fool- 
ish to  expect  restitution.  Loss  of  character  and  the 
confidence  of  his  benefactor  makes  him  desperate. 
I  find,  that,  should  I  linger  on  earth  longer  than  a 
few  weeks,  I  cannot  now  afford  to  pay  the  rent  of  this 
house — I  must  remove  from  it — I  cannot  die  in  the 
house  in  which  my  poor  wife  breathed  her  last — this 
very  room !"  His  tears  burst  forth  again,  and  mine 
started  to  my  eyes.    "  A  friend  is  now  looking  out 


DIARY   OF  A   LATE   PHYSICIAN.  333 

lodgings  for  me  in  the  neighbourhood ;  to  which  I 
shall  remove  the  instant  my  health  will  permit.  It 
goes  to  my  heart,  to  think  of  the  bustling  auctioneer 
disposing  of  all  my  apparatus," — tears  again  gushed 
from  his  eyes — "the  companions  of  many  years" — 

"  Dear,  dear  sir ! — Your  friends  will  ransack  heaven 
and  earth  before  your  fears  shall  be  verified,"  said  I, 
with  emotion. 

"  They — you — are  very  good  ;  but  you  would  be 
unsuccessful ! — You  must  think  me  very  weak  to  let 
these  things  overcome  me  in  this  way — one  can't 
help  feeling  them! — A  man  may  writhe  under  the 
amputating  knife,  and  yet  acknowledge  the  necessity 
of  its  use  !    My  spirit  wants  disciplining." 

"  Allow  me  to  say,  Mr.  E ,  that  I  think  you 

bear  your  misfortunes  with  admirable  fortitude — 
true  philosophic" — 

"  Oh  doctor !  doctor !"  he  exclaimed,  interrupting 
me,  with  solemn  emphasis,  "  believe  a  dying  man, 
to  whom  all  this  world's  fancied  realities  have  sunk 
into  shadows — nothing  can  make  a  death-bed  easy, 
but  RELIGION — a  humble,  hearty  faith  in  Him  whose 
Son  redeemed  mankind  !  Philosophy — science — is 
a  nothing — a  mockery — a  delusion^if  it  be  only  of 
this  world  ! — I  believe  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
and  have  long  done  so,  that  the  essence — the  very 
crown  and  glory  of  true  philosophy,  is  to  surrender 
up  the  soul  entirely  to  God's  teaching,  and  practi- 
cally receive  and  appreciate  the  consolations  of  the 
gospel  of  Jesus  Christ !"  Oh,  the  fervency  with  which 
he  expressed  himself — his  shrunk  clasped  hands 
pointed  upwards,  and  his  features  beaming  with  de- 
votion !  I  told  him  it  did  my  heart  good  to  hear 
such  opinions  avowed  by  a  man  of  his  distinguished 
attainments. 

"  Don't — don't — don't  talk  in  that  strain,  doctor  !" 
said  he,  turning  to  me  with  a  reproving  air.  "  Could 
a  living  man  but  know  how  compliments  fall  upon  a 
dying  man's  ear !    *  *   *   I  am  going  shortly  into 


334  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

the  presence  of  Him  who  is  wisdom  itself;  and 
shall  I  go  pluming  myself  on  my  infinitely  less  than 
glowworm  glimmer,  in  the  presence  of  that  pure 
effulgence  1  Doctor,  I've  felt,  latterly,  that  I  would 
give  worlds  to  forget  the  pitiful  acquirements  which 
I  have  purchased  by  a  life's  labour,  if  my  soul  might 
meet  a  smile  of  approbation  when  it  first  flits  into 
the  presence  of  its  Maker — its  Judge  !"  Strange  lan- 
guage !  thought  I,  for  the  scientific  E ,  confess- 
edly a  master-mind  among  men. — Would  that  the 
shoal  of  sciolists,  now  babbling  abroad  their  infidel 
crudities,  could  have  had  one  moment's  interview 
with  this  dying  philosopher !  Pert  fools,  who  are 
hardly  released  from  their  leading-strings — the  very 
go-cart,  as  it  were,  of  elemental  science — before  the)' 
strut  about  and  forthwith  proceed  to  pluck  their 
Maker  by  the  beard — and  this,  as  an  evidence  of 
their  "  independence,"  and  being  released  from  the 
"  trammels  of  superstition !" 

Oh,  Lord  and  Maker  of  the  universe  ! — that  thou 
shouldst  be  so  "  long-suffering"  towards  these  inso- 
lent insects  of  an  hour  ! 

To  return.     I  left  E in  a  glowing  mood  of 

mind,  disposed  to  envy  him  his  death-bed,  even  with 
all  the  ills  which  attended  it !  Before  leaving  the 
house,  I  stepped  into  the  parlour  to  speak  a  few 

words  to  Miss  E .     The  sudden  illness  of  her 

uncle  had  found  its  way  into  the  papers;  and  I  was 
delighted  to  find  it  had  brought  a  profusion  of  cards 
every  morning,  many  of  them  bearing  the  most  dis- 
tinguished names  in  rank  and  science.     It  showed 

that  E 's  worth  was  properly  appreciated.     I 

counted  the  cards  of  fiv^  noblemen,  and  very  many 
members  of  the  Royal  and  other  learned  societies. 

Wednesday,  15th  August. — Well,  poor  E was 

yesterday  removed  from  his  house   in  Row, 

where  he  had  resided  upwards  of  twenty-five  years 
-~-which  he  had  fitted  up,  working  often  with  his 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  335 

own  hands,  at  much  trouble  and  expense — having 
built  the  laboratory-room  since  he  had  the  house — 
he  was  removed,  I  say,  from  his  house,  to  lodgings 
in  the  neighbourhood.  He  has  three  rooms  on  the 
first  floor,  small,  indeed,  and  in  humble  style — -Tdu! 
perfectly  clean,  neat,  and  comfortable.  Was  not  this 
itself  sufficient  to  have  broken  many  a  haughty 
spirit  1  His  extensive  philosophical  apparatus,  fur- 
niture, &c.  &c.,  had  all  been  sold,  at  less  than  a  t-xen- 
tieth  part  of  the  sum  they  had  originally  cost  him ! 
No  tidings  as  yet  have  been  received  of  the  villain 

who  has  ruined  his  generous  patron!     E has 

ceased,  however,  to  talk  of  it ;  but  I  see  that  Miss 

E feels  it  acutely.     Poor  girl,  well  she  may ! 

Her  uncle  was  carried  in  a  sedan  to  his  new  resi- 
dence, and  fainted  on  the  way,  but  has  continued  in 
tolerable  spirits  since  his  arrival.  His  conduct  is 
the  admiration  of  all  that  see  or  hear  of  him !  The 
first  words  he  uttered  as  he  was  sitting  before  the 
fire  in  an  easy  chair,  after  recovering  a  little  from 
the  exhaustion  occasioned  by  his  being  carried  up 

stairs,  were  to  Dr.  D ,  who  had  accompanied 

him.  "  Well !" — he  whispered,  faintly,  with  his  eyes 
shut — "  WTiat  a  gradation  ! — Reached  the  half-'way- 

hmise  between Row  and  the  '  house  appointed 

for  all  living !'  " 

"You  have  much  to  bear,  sir !"  said  Dr.  D . 

"  And  more  to  be  thankful  for !"  replied  E .    "  If 

there  were  such  a  thing  as  a  Protestant  calendar" 
said  Dr.  D to  me,  enthusiastically,  while  re- 
counting what  is  told  above,  "  and  I  could  canonize, 

E should  stand  first  on  the  Hst,  and  be  my  patron 

saint !"  When  I  saw  E- — ,  he  was  lying  in  bed, 
in  a  very  low  and  weak  state,  evidently  declining 
rapidly.  Still  he  looked  as  placid  as  his  fallen  fea- 
tures would  let  him. 

"  Doctor,"  said  he,  soon  after  I  had  sat  dowTi, 
"  how  very  good  it  is  of  you  to  come  so  far  out  of 
your  regular  route  to  see  me  !" 


336      .  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

"  Don't  name  it,"  said  I,  "  proud  and  happy" — 

"  But  excuse  me,  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  when  I 
am  gone  you  will  find  I  knew  how  to  be  grateful, 
as  far  as  my  means  would  warrant." 

"Mr.  E !  my  dear  sir!"  said  I,  as  firmly  as 

my  emotions  could  let  me,  "  if  you  don't-  promise 
this  day  to  erase  every  mention  of  my  name  or 
services  from  your  will,  I  leave  you,  and  solemnly 
declare  I  will  never  intrude  upon  you  again !  Mr. 
E ,  you  distress  me — you  do,  beyond  measure  !" 

"  Well — well — well — I'll  obey  you— but  may  God 
bless  you  !  God  bless  you !"  he  replied,  turning  his 
head  away,  while  the  tears  trickled  down.  Indeed  I 
— as  if  a  thousand  guineas  could  have  purchased  the 
emotions  with  which  I  felt  his  poor  damp  fingers 

feebly  compressmg  my  hand ! 

******** 

"  Doctor !"  he  exclaimed,  after  I  had  been  sitting 
with  him  some  time,  conversing  on  various  subjects 
connected  with  his  illness  and  worldly  circum- 
stances, "  don't  you  think  God  can  speak  to  the 
soul  as  well  in  a  night  as  in  a  day-dream  ?  Shall  I 
presume  to  say  he  has  done  so  in  my  case  ?"  I  asked 
him  what  he  was  alluding  to. 

"  Don't  you  recollect  my  telling  you  of  an  optical,  or 

spectral  illusion,  which  occurred  to  me  at Row  ] 

A  man  shutting  up  the  shop— you  know  ?"  I  told 
him  I  did. 

"  Well — last  night  I  dreamed — I  am  satisfied  it 
was  a  dream — that  I  saw  Mr.  Boyle  again  ;  but  how 
different !  Instead  of  gloomy  clothing,  his  appear- 
ance was  wondrously  radiant — and  his  features  were 
not,  as  before,  solemn,  sad,  and  fixed,  but  wore  an 
air  of  joy  and  exultation ;  and  instead  of  a  miserable 
expiring  taper,  he  held  aloft  a  light  like  the  kindling 
lustre  of  a  star  !  What  think  you  of  that,  doctor  ? 
Surely,  if  both  these  are  the  delusions  of  a  morbid 
fancy,  ifihey  are,  what  a  light  they  fling  over  the 
'  dark  valley'  I  am  entering !" 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  337 

I  hinted  my  dissent  from  the  skeptical  sneers  of 
the  day,  which  would  resolve  all  that  was  uttered 
on  death-beds  into  delirious  rant — confused  disor- 
dered faculties — superstition. 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  said  he.  "  Who  knows 
what  new  light  may  stream  upon  the  soul,  as  the 
wall  between  time  and  eternity  is  breaking  down  ? 
Who  has  come  back  from  the  grave  to  tell  us  that  the 
soul's  energies  decay  with  the  body,  or  that  the 
body's  decay  destroys  or  interrupts  the  exercise  of 
the  soul's  powers,  and  that  all  a  dying  man  utters  is 
mere  gibberish  ?  The  Christian  philosopher  would 
be  loath  to  do  so,  when  he  recollects  that  God  chose 
the  hour  of  death  to  reveal  futurity  to  the  patriarchs 
and  others  of  old !  Do  you  think  a  superintending 
Providence  would  allow  the  most  solemn  and  in- 
structivr  period  of  our  life,  the  close — scenes  where 
men's  hearts  and  eyes  are  open,  if  ever,  to  receive 
admonition  and  encouragement — to  be  mere  exhibi- 
tions of  absurdity  and  weakness  ?  Is  that  the  way 
God  treats  his  servants  ]" 

Friday  afternoon. — In  a  more  melancholy  mood 
than  usual,  on  account  of  the  evident  distress  of  his 
niece  about  her  altered  prospects.  He  told  me,  how- 
ever, that  he  felt  the  confidence  of  his  soul  in  nowise 
shaken.  "  I  am,"  said  he,  "  like  one  lying  far  on  the 
shores  of  Eternity,  thrown  there  by  the  waters  of  the 
world,  and  whom  a  high  and  strong  \vave  reaches 
once  more  and  oveiHows.  One  may  be  pardoned 
a  sudden  chilliness  and  heart-fluttering. — After  all," 
he  continued,  "  only  consider  what  an  easy  end  mine 
is,  comparatively  with  that  of  many  others  !  How 
veiy — very  thankful  should  I  be  for  such  an  easy 
exit  as  mine  seems  likely  to  be  !  God  be  thanked 
that  I  have  to  endure  no  such  agonies  of  horror  and 

remorse  as  !"  (alluding  to  Mr. ,  whom  I 

was  then  attending,  and  whose  case  I  had  men- 
tioned on  a  former  occasion  to  Mr.  E ;  the  one 

described  in  a  former  part  of  this  Diarv,  under  the 
Ff 


338  PASSAGES   FROM    THE 

title,  "  A  Man  about  Town'^)—^^  that  I  am  writhing 
under  no  accident — that  I  have  not  to  struggle  with 
utter  destitution ! — Why  am  I  not  left  to  perish  in  a 
prison?  To  suffer  on  a  scaffold?  To  be  plucked 
suddenly  into  the  presence  of  my  Maker  in  battle,* 
*  with  all  my  sins  upon  my  head  V  Suppose  I  were 
grovelling  in  the  hopeless  darkness  of  skepticism  or 
infidelity  ?  Suppose  I  were  still  to  endure  the  ago- 
nies arising  from  disease  in  my  spine  ] — Oh  God  I" 

exclaimed  Mr.  E ,  "  give  me  a  more  humble  and 

grateful  heart !" 

Monday,  I9th  Septeivher. — Mr.  E is  still  alive, 

to  the  equal  astonishment  of  Dr.  D and  myself. 

The  secret  must  lie,  I  think,  in  his  tranquil  frame  of 
mind.  He  is  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long  I  Oh,  that 
my  latter  days  may  be  like  his!  I  was  listening 
with  feelings  of  delight  unutterable  to  E 's  de- 
scription of  the  state  of  his  mind — the  perfect  peace 
he  felt  towards  all  mankind,  and  his  humble  and 
strong  hopes  of  happiness  hereafter — when  the  land- 
lady of  the  house  knocked  at  the  door,  and  on  enter- 
ing, told  Mr.  E that  a  person  was  down-stairs 

very  anxious  to  see  him. — "  Who  is  it  1"  inquired 

E .     She  did  not  know.     "  Has  he  ever  been 

here  before  V — "  No ;  but  she  thought  she  had 
several  times  seen  him  about  the  neighbourhood." — 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  is  he  V  inquired  E ,  with 

a  surprised  air. — "  Oh,  he  is  a  tall,  pale  man,  in  a 

brown    great-coat."    E requested   her  to  go 

down  and  ask  his  name.     She  returned,  and  said, 

"  Mr.  H ,  sir."    E ,  on  hearing  her  utter  the 

word,  suddenly  raised  himself  in  bed ;  the  little 
colour  he  had  fled  from  his  cheeks :  he  lifted  up  his 
hands  and  exclaimed,  "  What  can  the  unhappy  man 
want  with  me  ]"  He  paused  thoughtfully  for  a  few 
moments.  "  You're  of  course  aware  who  this  is  1" 
he  inquired  of  me  in  a  whisper.    I  nodded.    "  Show 

*  This  was  at  the  time  of  the  Peninsular  campaigns. 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  339 

him  up  stairs,"  said  he,  and  the  woman  withdrew. 
"  For  your  own  sake  I  beg  you  to  be  calm  ;  don*t  allow 
your  feelings" —  I  was  interrupted  by  the  door 
opening,  and  just  such  a  person  as  Mrs. had  de- 
scribed entered,  with  a  slow,  hesitating  step,  into  the 
room.  He  held  his  hat  squeezed  in  both  his  hands, 
and  he  stood  for  a  few  moments  motionless,  just 
within  the  door,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor.     In 

that  posture  he  continued  till  Mrs. had  retired, 

shutting  the  door  after  her,  when  he  turned  suddenly 

towards  the  easy-chair  by  the  fire,  in  which  INIr.  E 

was  sitting,  much  agitated — approached,  and  falling 
down  on  his  knees,  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his 
hands,  through  which  the  tears  presently  fell  like 
rain ;  and  after  many  choking  sobs  and  sighs,  fal- 
tered, "  Oh,  Mr.  E !" 

"What  do  you  want  with  me,  Mr.  H ?"  in- 
quired Mr.  E ,  in  a  low  tone,  but  very  calmly. 

"  Oh,  kind,  good,  abused  sir !  I  have  behaved  like 
a  villain  to  you" — 

"  Mr.  H ,  I  beg  you  will  not  distress  me  ;  con- 
sider I  am  in  a  very  poor  and  weak  state." 

"  Don't  for  God's  sake  speak  so  coldly,  sir  !  I  am 
heartbroken  to  think  how  shamefully  I  have  used 
you !" 

"  Well,  then,  strive  to  amend." — 

"  Oh,  dear,  good  Mr.  E !  can  you  forgive  me  1" 

Mr.  E did  not  answer.     I   saw  he   could  not. 

The  tears  were  nearly  overflowing.  The  man  seized 
his  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips  with  fervency. 

"  Rise,  Mr.  H ,  rise  !     I  do  forgive  you,  and  I 

hope  that  God  will!  Seek  his  forgiveness,  which 
will  avail  you  more  than  jniae .'" 

"  Oh,  sir  !"  exclaimed  the  man  again,  covering  his 
eyes  with  his  hands, — "  how  ver\' — very  ill  you  look 
— how  pale  and  thin.  It's  /that'have  done  it  all — I, 
the  d dest" — 

"Hush,  hush,  sir!"  exclaimed  Mr.  E ,  with 


340  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

more  sternness  than  I  had  ever  seen  him  exhibit, "  do 
not  curse  in  a  dying  man's  room." 

"  Dying — dying — dying,  sir  V  exclaimed  the  man, 

hoarsely,  staring  horror-struck   at  Mr.  E ,  and 

retiring  a  step  from  him. 

"  Yes,  James,"  replied  E ,  mildly,  calling  him 

for  the  first  time  by  his  Christian  name, "  I  am  as- 
suredly dying — ^but  not  through  you,  or  any  thing  you 
have  done.  Come,  come,  don't  distress  yourseK  un- 
necessarily," he  continued,  in  the  kindest  tones ;  for 
he  saw  the  man  continued  deadly  pale,  speechless, 
and  clasping  his  hands  convulsively  over  his  breast 
— "  Consider,  James,  my  daughter,  Mrs. ." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  sir — no !  It's  /  that  have  done  it  all ; 
my  ingratitude  has  broken  your  heart — I  know  it  has  I 
— What  will  become  of  me  ?" — the  man  resumed, 
still  staring  vacantly  at  Mr.  E . 

"James,  I  must  not  be  agitated  in  this  way — it 
agitates  me — you  must  leave  the  room  unless  you 
can  become  calm.  What  is  done  is  done ;  and  if  you 
really  repent  of  it" — 

"  Oh,  I  do,  sir ;  and  could  almost  -weep  tears  of 
blood  for  it !  But  indeed,  sir,  it  has  been  as  much 
my  misfortune  as  my  fault." 

"  Was  it  your  misfortune  or  your  fault  that  you 
kept  that  infamous  woman  on  whom  you  have  squan- 
dered so  much  of  your  property — of  mine  rather  ?" 

inquired  Mr.  E ,  with  a  mild  expostulating  air. 

The  man  suddenly  blushed  scarlet,  and  continued 
silent. 

"  It  is  right  I  should  tell  you  that  it  is  your  mis- 
conduct which  has  turned  me  out,  in  my  old  age, 
from  the  house  which  has  sheltered  me  all  my  life, 
and  driven  me  to  die  in  this  poor  place  !  You  have 
])eggared  my  niece,  and  robbed  me  of  all  the  hard 
earnings  of  my  life — wnmg  from  the  sweat  of  my 
brow,  as  you  well  know,  James.  James,  how  could 
your  heart  let  you  do  all  this  ]"  The  man  made  him 
no  answer.    "  I  am  not  angry  with  you— that  is  past 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  341 

— but  I  am  grieved — disappointed — shocked  to  find 
my  confidence  in  you  has  been  so  much  abused." 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  don't  know  what  it  was  that  infatuated 
me ;  but — never  trust  a  Uving  man  again,  sir — never," 
replied  the  man,  vehemently. 

"  It  is  not  likely  I  shall,  James — I  shall  not  have 

the  opportunity,"  said  INIr.  E ,  calmly.    The  man's 

eye  continued  fixed  on  Mr.  E ,  his  lip  quivered 

in  spite  of  his  violent  compression,  and  the  fluctuat- 
ing colour  in  his  cheeks  showed  the  agitation  he  was 
suffering. 

"  Do  you  forgive  me,  sir,  for  what  I  have  done  ]" 
he  asked,  almost  inaudibly. 

"  Yes — if  you  promise  to  amend — yes !  Here  is 
my  hand — I  do  forgive  you,  as  I  hope  for  my  own 

forgiveness  hereafter !"  said  Mr.  E ,  reaching  out 

his  hand.  "  And  if  your  repentance  is  sincere,  should 
it  ever  be  in  your  power,  remember  whom  you  have 

most  heavily  wronged,  not  me,  but — but — Miss  E , 

my  poor  niece.     If  you  should  ever  be  able  to  make 

her  any  reparation — "  the  tears  stood  in  Mr.  E 's 

eyes,  and  his  emotions  prevented  his  completing  the 
sentence.  "  Really  you  must  leave  me,  James — you 
must — I  am  too  weak  to  bear  this  scene  any  longer," 
said  E ,  faintly,  looking  deadly  pale. 

"You  had  better  withdraw,  sir,  and  call  some  other 
time,"  said  I.  He  rose,  looking  almost  bewildered ; 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast-pocket,  and  taking  out 

a  small  packet  laid  it  hurriedly  on  Mr.  E 's  lap — 

snatched  his  hand  to  his  lips,  and  murmuring,  "Fare- 
well, farewell,  best  of  men  !" — withdrew.  I  watched 
him  through  the  window ;  and  saw  that  as  soon  as 
he  had  left  the  house,  he  set  off,  running  almost  at 
the  top  of  his  speed.     When  I  returned  to  look  at 

Mr.  E ,  he  had  fainted.   He  had  opened  the  packet, 

and  a  letter  lay  open  in  his  lap,  with  a  great  many 
bank  notes.  The  letter  ran  as  follows:  "Injured 
and  revered  sir, — When  you  read  this  epistle,  the 
miserable  v,  riter  will  have  fled  from  his  coimtry,  aiid 
Ff2 


342  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

be  on  his  way  to  America.  He  has  abused  the  con- 
fidence of  one  of  the  greatest  and  best  of  men,  but 
hopes  the  enclosed  sum  will  show  he  repented  what 
he  had  done  !     If  it  is  ever  in  his  power  he  will  do 

more.     J H ."    The  packet  contained  bank 

notes  to  the  amomit  of  3000/.     When  E had 

recovered  from  his  swoon,  I  had  him  conveyed  to 
bed,  where  he  lay  in  a  state  of  great  exhaustion.  He 
scarce  spoke  a  syllable  during  the  time  I  continued 
with  him. 

Tuesday. — Mr.  E still  suffers  from  the  effects 

of  yesterday's  excitement.  It  has,  I  am  confident, 
hurried  him  far  on  his  journey  to  the  grave.  He  told 
me  he  had  been  turning  over  the  affair  in  his  mind, 
and  considered  that  it  would  be  wrong  in  him  to  re- 
tain the  3000/.,  as  it  would  be  illegal,  and  a  fraud  on 

H ^'s  other  creditors :  and  this  upright  man  had 

actually  sent  in  the  morning  for  the  solicitor  to  the 
bankrupt's  assignees,  and  put  the  whole  into  his 
hands,  telling  him  of  the  circumstances  under  which 
he  had  received  it,  and  asking  him  whether  he  should 
not  be  wrong  in  keeping  it.  The  la>vyer  told  him 
that  he  might  perhaps  be  legally,  but  not  morally 
wrong — as  the  law  certainly  forbade  such  payments, 
and  yet  he  was  by  very  far  the  largest  creditor. 
"  Let  me  act  right,  then,  in  the  sight  of  God  and 
man !     Take  the  money,  and  let  me  come  in  with  the 

rest  of  the  creditors."     Mr. withdrew.    He  must 

have  seen  but  seldom  such  an  instance  of  noble  con- 
scientiousness!     I  remonstrated  with  Mr.  E . 

"  No,  no,  doctor,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  endeavoured 
strictly  to  do  my  duty  during  life — I  will  not  begin 
roguery  on  my  death-bed !" — "  Possibly  you  may 
not  receive  a  penny  in  the  pound,  Mr.  E ,"  said  I. 

"  But  I  shall  have  the  comfort  of  quitting  life  with 

a  clear  conscience !" 

******** 

Monday. — [A    week    afterward.] — The    "weary 
wheek  of  life"  Avill  soon  "  stand  still !"    All  is  calm 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  343 

and  serene  with  E as  a  summer  evening's  sun- 
set !  He  is  at  peace  with  all  the  world,  and  with 
his  God.  It  is  like  entering-  the  porch  of  heaven, 
and  listening-  to  an  angel,  to  visit  and  converse  with 

E .     This  morning  he  received  the  reward  of  his 

noble  conduct  in  the  matter  of  H 's  bankruptcy. 

The  assignees  have  wound  up  the  affairs,  and  found 
them  not  near  so  desperate  as  had  been  apprehended. 

The  business  was  still  to  be  carried  on  in  H 's 

name ;  and  the  solicitor  who  had  been  sent  for  by 

E to  receive  the  3000/.  in  behalf  of  the  assignees, 

called  this  morning  with  a  check  for  3500/.,  and  a 
highly  complimentary  letter  from  the  assignees. 
They  informed  him  that  there  Avas  every  prospect  of 
the  concern's  yet  discharging  the  heavy  amount  of  his 
claim,  and  that  they  would  see  to  its  being  paid  to 

whomsoever  he  might  appoint.     H had  set  sail 

for  America,  the  very  day  he  had  called  on  E , 

and  had  left  word  that  he  should  never  return.    E 

altered  his  will  this  evening,  in  the  presence  of  my- 
self and  Dr.  D .      He  left  about  4000/.  to  his 

niece, "  and  whatever  sums  might  be  from  time  to  time 

paid  in  from  H 's  business;  five  guineas  for  a 

yearly  prize  to  the  writer  of  the  best  summary  of  the 
progress  of  philosophy  every  year,  in  one  of  the 
Scotch  colleges ;  and  ten  pounds  to  be  delivered 
every  Christmas  to  ten  poor  men,  as  long  as  they 
lived,  and  who  had  already  received  the  gratuity  for 

several  years;   and  to  J H ,  his  full  and 

hearty  forgiveness,  and  prayers  to  God  that  he  may 
return  to  a  course  of  virtue  and  true  piety,  before  it 
is  too  late."  *  *  *  "  How  is  it,"  said  he,  address- 
ing Dr.  D and  me,  "  that  you  have  neither  of  you 

said  any  thing  to  me  about  examining  my  body  after 

my  decease  ?"    Dr.  D replied,  that  he  had  often 

thought  of  asking  his  permission,  but  had  kept  delay- 
ing from  day  to  day.     "  Why  1"  inquired  E ,  with 

a  smile  of  surprise  ;  "  do  you  fancy  I  have  any  *illy 
fears  or  prejudices  on  the  subject  ]   That  I  am  anxious 


344  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

about  the  shell  when  the  kernel  is  gonel  I  can 
assure  you  that  it  would  rather  give  me  pleasure  than 
otherwise,  to  think  that  by  an  examination  of  my 
body  the  cause  of  medical  science  might  be  advanced, 
and  so  minister  a  little  to  my  species.  I  must,  how- 
ever, say  you  nay  ;  for  I  promised  my  poor  wife  that 
I  would  forbid  it.  She  had  prejudices,  and  I  have  a 
right  to  respect  them." 

Wednesday. — He  looked  much  reduced  this  eve- 
ning. I  had  hurried  to  his  lodgings,  to  communi- 
cate what  I  considered  would  be  the  gratifying  intel- 
ligence, that  the  highest  prize  of  a  foreign  learned 
society  had  just  been  awarded  him  for  his  work  on 

,  together  with  a  fellowship.     My  heated  and 

hurried  manner  somewhat  discomposed  him;  and 
before  I  had  communicated  my  news,  he  asked,  with 
some  agitation,  "  What ! — Some  new  misfortune  ]" 
— When  I  had  told  him  my  errand, — "  Oh,  bubble  ! 
bubble !  bubble !"  he  exclaimed,  shaking  his  head  with 
a  melancholy  smile,  "  would  I  not  give  thousands 
of  these  for  a  poor  man's  blessing  ?  Are  these,  these 
the  trifles  men  toil  through  a  life  for? — Oh,  if  it  had 
pleased  God  to  give  me  a  single  glimpse  of  what  I 
now  see,  thirty  years  ago,  how  true  an  estimate  I 
should  have  formed  of  the  littleness — the  vanity  of 
human  applause  !  How  much  happier  would  my 
end  have  been !  How  much  nearer  should  I  have 
come  to  the  character  of  a  true  philosopher — an  im- 
partial, independent,  sincere  teacher  of  the  truth,  for 
its  own  sake !" — "  But  honours  of  this  kind  are  of 

admirable  service  to  science,  Mr.  E ,"  said  I, "  as 

supplying  strong  incentives  and  stimulants  to  a  pur- 
suit of  philosophy." 

"  Yes  ;  but  does  it  not  argue  a  defect  in  the  con- 
stitution of  men's  minds  to  require  them  1  What  is 
the  use  of  stimulants  in  medicine,  doctor  1 — Don't 
they  presuppose  a  morbid  sluggishness  in  the  parts 
they  are  applied  to  ?  Do  you  ever  stimulate  a  healthy 
organ? — So  is  it  with  the  little  honours  and  distinc- 


DIARY    OF    A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  345 

tions  we  are  speaking  of.  Directly  a  man  becomes 
anxious  about  obtaining-  them,  his  mind  has  lost  its 
healthy  tone — its  sympathies  with  truth — with  real 
philosophy." 

"Would  you,  then,  discourage  striving  for  them? 
Would  you  banish  honours  and  prizes  from  the  sci- 
entific worid  r' 

"Assuredly — altogether — did  we  but  exist  in  a  bet- 
ter state  of  society  than  we  do.  *  *  What  is  the 
proper  spirit  in  which,  as  matters  at  present  stand, 
a  philosopher  should  accept  of  honours  ? — Merely  as 
evidences,  testimonials,  to  the  multitude  of  those 
who  are  otherwise  incapable  of  appreciating  his  merits, 
and  would  set  him  down  as  a  dreamer — a  visionary 
— but  that  they  saw  the  estimation  in  which  he  was 
held  by  those  who  are  likely  to  canvass  his  claims 
strictly.  They  compel  the  deference,  if  not  re- 
spect of  the  hi  -oWoi.  A  philosopher  ought  to  receive 
them,  therefore,  as  it  were,  in  self-defence — a  shut- 
mouth  to  babbling,  envious  gainsayers.  Were  all  the 
world  philosophers,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word, 
not  merely  would  honours  be  unnecessary,  but  an 
insult — a  reproach.  Directly  a  philosopher  is  con- 
scious that  the  love  of  fame — the  ambition  to  secure 
such  distinctions,  is  gradually  insinuating — inter- 
weaving itself  with  the  very  texture  of  his  mind; 
that  considerations  of  that  kind  are  becoming  neces- 
sary in  any  degree  to  prompt  him  to  undertake  or 
prosecute  scientific  pursuits,  he  may  write  Icha- 
BOD  on  the  door  of  his  soul's  temple — for  the  glory 
is  departed.  His  motives  are  spurious;  his  fires 
false  !  To  the  exact  extent  of  the  necessity  for  such 
motives  is,  as  it  M^ere,  the  pure  ore  of  his  soul  adul- 
terated. Minerva's  jealous  eyes  can  detect  the 
slightest  vacillation  or  inconsistency  in  her  votaries, 
and  discover  her  rival  even  before  the  votary  himself 
is  sensible  of  her  existence ;  and  withdraws  from 
her  faithless  admirer  in  cold  disdain  perhaps  never  to 
return.    Do  you  think  that  Archimedes,  Plato,  or  Sir 


346  PASSAGES    FROM   THE 

Isaac  Newton  would  have  cared  a  straw  for  even 
royal  honours  1  The  true  test,  believe  me — the  almost 
infallible  criterion  of  a  man's  having-  attained  to  true 
greatness  of  mind — to  the  true  philosophic  temper, 
is  his  utter  indifference  to  all  sorts  of  honours  and 
distinctions.  Why  1 — What  seeks  he — or  proposes 
to  seek — but  Truth  1  Is  he  to  stop  in  the  race,  to 
look  after  Atalanta's  apples  1  He  should  endure  hon- 
ours, not  go  out  of  his  way  to  seek  them.  If  one 
apple  hitches  in  his  vest,  he  may  carry  it  with  him, 
not  stop  to  dislodge  it.  Scientific  distinctions  are 
absolutely  necessary  in  the  present  state  of  society, 
because  it  is  defective.  A  mere  ambitious  struggle 
for  college  honours  through  rivalry  has  induced 
many  a  man  to  enter  so  far  upon  philosophical  studies 
as  that  their  charms,  unfolding  in  proportion  to  his 
progress,  have  been  of  themselves  at  last  sufficient  to 
prevail  upon  him  to  go  onwards — to  love  science  for 
herself  alone.  Honours  make  a  man  open  his  eyes, 
who  would  else  have  gone  to  his  grave  with  them 
shut :  and  when  once  he  has  seen  the  divinity  of 
truth,  he  laughs  at  obstacles,  and  follows  it  through 
evil  and  good  report — if  his  soul  be  properly  con- 
stituted— if  it  have  in  it  any  of  the  nobler  sympathies 
of  our  nature. — That  is  my  homily  on  honours,'*^  said 
he,  with  a  smile,  "  I  have  not  wilfully  preached  and 
practised  different  things,  I  assure  you,"  he  continued, 
with  a  modest  air,  "  but  through  life  have  striven  to 
act  upon  these  principles.  Still,  I  never  saw  so 
clearly  as  at  this  moment  how  small  my  success  has 
been— to  what  an  extent  I  have  been  influenced  by 
incorrect  motives — as  far  as  an  over-valuing  of  the 
world's  honours  may  be  so  considered.  Now  I  see 
through  no  such  magnifying  medium;  the  mists  and 
vapours  are  dispersing ;  and  I  begin  to  see  that  these 
objects  are  in  themselves  little,  even  to  nothingness. 
— The  general  retrospect  of  my  life  is  far  from  satis- 
factory," continued  E ,  with  a  sigh — "  and  fills 

me  with  real  sorrow !" — "  Why  ?"— I  inquired,  with 


DURY    OF    A    LATE    PHYSICIAN.  347 

surprise.      "  Why,  for  this  one  reason — because  I  ] 

have  in  a  measure  sacrificed  my  religion  to  philoso-  i 

phy !     Oh — will  my  Maker  thus  be  put  off  with  the  j 

mere  lees — the  refuse — of  my  time  and  energies  1  i 

For  one  hour  in  the  day  that  I  have  devoted  to  him,  j 

have  I  not  given  twelve  or  fourteen  to  my  own  pur-  \ 

suits  ?     What  shall  I  say  of  this  shortly— in  a  few  i 

hours — perhaps  moments — wlien  I  stan  d  suddenly  in  j 

the  presence  of  God — when  I  see  Him  face  to  face  !  , 
Oh,  doctor! — my  heart   sinks   and   sickens  at  the 

thought ! — shall  I  not  be  speechless,  as  one  of  old  ?"  ; 

I  told  him  I  thought  he  was  unnecessarily  severe 

with  himself— that  "he  "wrote  bitter  things  against  : 
himself." 

"  I  thought  so  once,  nay,  all  my  life,  myself — doc-  j 

tor" — said  he,  solemnly — "  but  mark  my  words,  as  a  j 
dying  man — you  will  think  as  I  do  now  when  you 

come  to  be  in  my  circumstances  !"  , 

The  above,  feebly  conveyed  perhaps  to  the  reader,  j 
may   be    considered    the    last    words    of    a    pm- 
LosopHER.     They  made  an  impression  on  my  mind 
which  has  never  been  effaced  ;  and  I  trust  never  will. 

The  reader  need  not  suspect  him  of  "  prosing."    The  ' 

above   were   uttered  with   no   pompous,   swelling,  | 

pedantic  swagger  of  manner,  but  with  the  simplest,  | 
most  modest  air,  and  in  the  most  silvery  tones  of 
voice  I  ever  listened  to.     He  often  paused  from  faint- 

ness :  and  at  the  conclusion  his  voice  grew  almost  i 

inaudible,  and  he  wiped  the  thick-standing  dews  from  j 
his  forehead.     He  begged  me,  in  a  low  whisper,  to 

kneel  down  and  read  him  one  of  the  church-prayers  ' 

— the  one  appointed  for  those  in  prospect  of  death :  i 
I  took  down  the  prayer-book  and  complied,  though 

my  emotions  would  not  suffer  me  to  speak  in  more  ' 

than  an  often-interrupted  whisper.     He  lay  perfectly  ! 

silent  throughout,  with  his  clasped  hands  pointing  j 

upwards ;  and  when  1  had  concluded,  he  responded,  , 

feebly,  but  fervently,  "Amen— Amen!" — and   the  j 

tears  gushed  down  his  cheeks.    My  heart  was  melted  ^ 


348  PASSAGES    FROM    THE 

within  me.  The  silk  cap  had  slipped  from  his  head, 
and  his  long,  loose,  silvery  hair  streamed  over  his 
bed-dress:  his  appearance  was  that  of  a  dying 
prophet  of  old!  Bnt  I  find  I  am  going  on  at  too 
great  length  for  the  reader's  patience,  and  must 
pause.  For  my  own  part  I  could  linger  over  the  re- 
membrances of  these  solemn  scenes  for  ever :  but  I 
shall  hasten  on  to  the  "  last  scene  of  all."  It  did 
not  take  place  till  near  a  fortnight  after  the  interview 
above  narrated.  His  manner  during  that  time  evinced 
no  tumultuous  ecstasies  of  soul ;  none  of  the  bois- 
terous extravagance  of  enthusiasm.  His  departure 
was  like  that  of  the  sun,  sinking  gradually  and 
finally, lower — lower — lower — no  sudden  upflashings 
— no  quivering — no  flickering  unsteadiness  about  his 
fading  rays ! 

Tuesday,  I3th  October. — Miss  E sent  word  that 

her  uncle  appeared  dying,  and  had  expressed  a  wish 

to  see  both  Dr.  D and  me.   I  therefore  despatched 

a  note  to  Dr.  D ,  requesting  him  to  meet  me  at  a 

certain  place,  and  then  hurried  through  my  lis  t  of 
calls,  so  as  to  have  finished  by  three  o'clock.  By 
four  we  were  both  in  the  room  of  the  dying  philoso- 
pher.    Miss  E sat  by  his  bedside,  her  eyes 

swollen  with  weeping,  and  was  in  the  act  of  kissing 

her  uncle's  cheek  when  we  entered.     Mr.  F ,  an 

exemplary  clergyman,  who  had  been  one  of  E 's 

earliest  and  dearest  friends,  sat  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  with  a  copy  of  Jeremy  Taylor's  "  Holy  Living 
and  Dying,"  from  which  he  was  reading  in  a  low 

tone,  at  the  request  of  E .     The  appearance  of 

the  latter  was  very  interesting.  At  his  own  instance, 
he  had  not  long  before  been  shaved,  washed,  and  had 
a  change  of  linen  ;  and  the  bed  was  also  but  recently 
made,  and  was  not  at  all  tumbled  or  disordered.  The 
mournful  tolling  of  the  church-bell  for  a  funeral  was 
also  heard  at  intervals,  and  added  to  the  solemnity 
of  the  scene.    I  have  seldom  felt  in  such  a  state 


DURY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN'.  349 

of  excitement  as  I  was  on  first  entering  the  room. 
He  shook  hands  with  each  of  us,  or  rather  we  shook 
his  hands,  for  he  could  hardly  lift  them  from  the  bed. 
"  Well — thank  you  for  coming  to  bid  me  farewell !" 
said  he,  with  a  smile  ;  adding,  pleasantly,  "  Will  you 
allow  Mr.  F to  proceed  with  what  he  is  read- 
ing ?"  Of  course  we  nodded,  and  sat  in  silence  lis- 
tening.     I  watched   E 's  features;   they  M'ere 

much  wasted — but  exhibited  no  traces  of  pain.  His 
eye,  though  rather  sunk  in  the  socket,  was  full  of  the 
calmness  and  confidence  of  unwavering  hope,  and 
often  directed  upwards  with  a  devout  expression.  A 
most  heavenly  serenity  was  diffused  over  his  counte- 
nance. His  lips  occasionally  moved,  as  if  in  the  ut- 
terance of  prayer.     When  !\Ir.  F had  closed  the 

book,  the  first  words  uttered  by  E were,  "  Oh 

the  infinite  goodness  of  God !" 

"  Do  you  feel  that  your  '  anchor  is  within  the  veil  ?" ' 
inquired  F . 

"  Oh ! — yes — yes  ! — My  vessel  is  steadily  moored 
— the  tide  of  life  goes  fast  away — I  am  forgetting 

that  I  ever  sailed  on  its  sea !"  replied  E ,  closing 

his  eyes. 

"  The  star  of  faith  shines  clearest  in  the  night  of 
expiring  nature !"  exclaimed  F . 

"  The  sun — the  sun  of  faith,   say  rather,"  replied 

E ,  in  a  tone  of  fervent  exultation ;  "  it  turns  my 

night  into  day — it  warms  my  soul — it  rekindles  my 
energies! — Sun — sun  of  righteousness!" — he  ex- 
claimed, faintly.     Miss  E kissed  him  repeatedly, 

with  deep  emotion.  "  Emma,  my  love !"  he  whis- 
pered, "  hope  thou  in  God !  See  how  he  will  sup- 
port thee  in  death !" — She  burst  into  tears. — "  Will 
you  promise  me,  love,  to  read  the  little  Bible  I  gave 
you,  when  I  am  gone — especially  the  Aeu'  Testament? 
— Do — do,  love." 

"I will — I — ,"  replied  Miss  E ,  almost  choked 

with  her  emotions.     She  could  say  no  more. 

"Dr.  ,"  he  addressed  me,  "I  feel  more  to- 

Gg 


350  PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

wards  you  than  I  can  express ;  your  services — ser-' 
vices — "  he  grew  very  pale  and  faint.  I  rose  and 
poured  out  a  glass  of  wine,  and  put  it  to  his  lips. 
He  drank  a  few  teaspoonfuls,  and  it  revived  him. 

"  Well !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  stronger  voice  than  I 
had  before  heard  him  speak.  "  I  thank  God  I  leave 
in  perfect  peace  with  all  mankind!  There  is  but 
one  thing  that  grieves  me — the  general  neglect  of 

religion  among  men  of  science."     Dr.  D said,  it 

must  afford  him  great  consolation  to  reflect  on  the 
steadfast  regard  for  religion  which  he  himself  had 
always  evidenced.  "  No,  no — I  have  gone  nearly 
as  far  astray  as  any  of  them ;  but  God's  rod  has 
brought  me  back  again.  I  thank  God  devoutly  that 
he  ever  afflicted  me  as  I  have  been  afflicted  through 
life — He  knows  I  do !"  *  *  *  Some  one  mentioned 
the  prevalence  of  materialism.  He  lamented  it  bit- 
terly; but  assured  us  that  several  of  the  most  emi- 
nent men  of  the  age — naming  them — believed  firmly 
in  the  immateriality  and  immortality  of  the  human 
soul. 

"  Do  you  feel  firmly  convinced  of  it — on  natural 
and  philosophical  grounds  ?"  inquired  Dr.  D . 

"  I  do ;  and  have,  ever  since  I  instituted  an  inquiry 
on  the  subject,  /think  the  difficulty  is  to  believe  the 
reverse — when  it  is  owned  on  all  hands,  that  nothing 
in  nature's  c»hanges  suggests  the  idea  of  annihilation. 
I  own  that  doubts  have  very  often  crossed  my  mind 
on  the  subject — but  could  never  see  the  reason  of 
them !" 

"  But  your  confidence  does  not  rest  on  the  barren 
grounds  of  reason,"  said  I ;  "  you  believe  Him  who 
brought '  life  and  immortality'  into  the  world." 

"  Yes — '  Thanks  be  to  God,  who  giveth  us  the  vic- 
tory through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ !' " 

"Do  you  7iever  feel  a  pang  of  regret  at  leaving  life  ?" 
I  inquired.  • 

"  No,  no,  no !"  he  replied,  with  emphasis ;  "  life  and 
I  are  grown  unfit  for  each  other !     My  sympathies — 


DIARY    OF   A   LATE    PHYSICIAN.  351 

my  hopes — my  joys,  are  too  large  for  it !  Why  should 
I,  just  got  into  the  haven,  think  of  risking  shipwreck 

again  ?" 

*         *         *         «*         ##« 

He  lay  still  for  nearly  twenty  minutes  without 
speaking.  His  breathing  was  evidently  accomplished 
with  great  difficulty ;  and  when  his  eyes  occasionally 
fixed  on  any  of  us,  we  perceived  that  their  expres- 
sion was  altered.  He  did  not  seem  to  see  what  he 
looked  at.  I  noticed  his  fingers  also  slowly  twitch- 
ing or  scratching  the  bedclothes.  Still  the  expres- 
sion of  his  features  was  calm  and  tranquil  as  ever. 

He  was  murmuring  something  in  Miss  E 's  ear; 

and  she  whispered  to  us,  that  he  said,  "  Don't  go — / 
shall  want  you  at  six^  Within  about  a  quarter  of 
six  o'clock,  he  inquired  where  Emma  was,  and  Dr. 

D ,  and  Mr.  F ,  and  myself.     We  severally 

answered,  that  we  sat  around  him. 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  for  the  last  twenty  minutes. 
Shake  hands  with  me  !"  We  did.  "  Emma,  my 
sweet  love  !  put  your  arm  round  my  neck — I  am  cold, 
cold."  Her  tears  fell  fast  on  his  face.  "Don't  cry, 
— love— don't— I  am  quite  happy!  —  God — God — 
bless  you,  love !" 

His  lower  jaw  began  to  droop  a  little. 

Mr.  F ,  moved  almost  to  tears,  rose  from  his 

chair,  and  noiselessly  kneeled  down  beside  him. 

"Have  faith  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ!"  he  ex- 
claimed, looking  steadfastly  into  his  face. 

"  I  DO !"  he  answered  distinctly,  while  a  faint  smile 
stole  over  his  drooping  features. 

"  Let  us  pray  !"  whispered  IMr.  F ;  and  we  all 

knelt  down  in  silence.  I  w'as  never  so  overpowered 
in  my  life.  I  thought  I  should  have  been  choked 
with  suppressing  my  emotions.  "  0  Lord,  our  hea- 
venly  Father!"    commenced   Mr.  F ,  in   a  low 

tone,  "  receive  thou  the  spirit  of  this  our  dying  bro- 
ther— "    E slowly  elevated  his  left  hand,  and 

kept  it  pointing  upwards  for  a  few  moments,  when  it 


352  PASSAGES,   ETC. 

suddenly  dropped,  and  a  long  deep  respiration  an- 
nounced that  this  great  and  good  man  had  breathed 
his  last ! 

No  one  in  the  room  spoke  or  stirred  for  several 
minutes ;  and  I  almost  thought  I  could  hear  the  beat- 
ings of  our  hearts.  He  died  within  a  few  moments 
of  six  o'clock.  Yes — there  lay  the  sad  effigy  of  our 
deceased  "  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend;" — and  yet, 
why  call  it  sad  1  I  coidd  detect  no  trace  of  sadness  in 
his  features — he  had  left  in  peace  and  joy ;  he  had  lived 
well,  and  died  as  he  had  lived.  I  can  now  appreciate 
the  force  of  that  prayer  of  one  of  old — "  Let  me  die 
the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be 
like  his !" 


There  was  some  talk  among  his  friends  of  erect- 
ing a  tablet  to  his  memory  in  Westminster  Abbey ; 
but  it  has  been  dropped.  We  soon  lose  the  recol- 
lection of  departed  excellence,  if  it  require  any  thing 
like  active  exertion. 


THE   END. 


[April,  1831, 

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HARPER'S  FAMILY  LIBRARY. 


*♦  Books  that  you  may  carry  to  the  fire,  and  hold  readily  in  your  hand, 
are  the  most  useful  after  all.  A  man  will  often  look  at  them,  and  be 
tempted  to  go  on,  when  he  would  have  been  frightened  at  books  of  a  larger 
size^andof  a  more  erudite  appearance." — Dr.  Johnson. 


The  proprietors  of  the  Family  Library  feel  themselves  stimulated  to 
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The  volumes  already  before  the  public  may  be  confidently  appealed  to 
as  proofs  of  zeal  on  the  part  of  the  publishers  to  present  to  their  readers 
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but  with  permanent  subjects,  may,  years  hence  as  well  as  now,  be  con- 
sulted for  lively  amusement  as  well  as  solid  instruction. 

To  render  this  Library  still  more  worthy  of  patronage,  the  proprie- 
tors propose  incorporating  in  it  such  works  of  interest  and  value  as 
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Europe,  panicularly  the  "  National"  and  the  "  Edinburgh  Cabinet"  Libra- 
ries. All  these  productions,  as  they  emanate  from  the  press,  will  be 
submitted  to  a  committee  of  literary  gentlemen  for  inspection  ;  and  none 
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Several  well-known  authors  have  been  engaged  to  prepare  for  it  original 
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Every  distinct  subject  will  in  general  be  comprehended  in  one  volume, 
or  at  most  in  three  volumes,  which  may  form  either  a  portion  of  the 
series  or  a  complete  work  by  itself;  and  each  volume  will  be  embellished 
with  appropriate  engravings. 

The  entire  series  will  be  the  production  of  authors  of  eminence,  who 
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influence  on  the  mind,  but  to  embrace  every  thing  calculated  to  strengthen 
the  best  and  most  salutary  impressions. 

With  these  arrangements  and  facilities,  the  publishers  flatter  them- 
selves that  they  shall  be  able  to  present  to  their  fellow-citizens  a  work 
of  unparalleled  merit  and  cheapness,  embracing  subjects  adapted  to  all 
classes  of  readers,  and  forming  a  body  of  literature  deserving  the  praise 
of  having  in.structed  many,  and  amused  all ;  and  above  every  other  spe- 
cies of  eulogy,  of  being  fit  to  be  introduced,  without  reserve  or  exception, 
by  the  father  of  a  family  to  the  domestic  circle.  Meanwhile,  the  very  low 
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fore, of  those  who  approve  its  plan  and  execution  is  respectfully  solicited. 
The  work  may  be  obtained  in  complete  sets,  or  in  separate  numbers, 
ftrom  the  principal  booksellers  throughout  the  United  States. 


HARPER'S  FAMILY  LIBRARY. 

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'•The  Family  Library.— Avery  excellent,  and  always  entertaining  >Iia- 
ceWany /'—-Edinburgh  Review,  No.  103. 

"  The  Family  Library  presents,  in  a  compendious  and  convenient  form, 
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sideration of  those  elementary  subjects  of  education  and  jiociety,  without  a 
due  acquaintance  with  which  neither  man  nor  woman  has  claim  to  be 
well  bred,  or  to  take  their  proper  place  among  those  with  whom  they 
abiAe"— Charleston  Gazette. 

"We  have  repeatedly  borne  testimony  to  the  utihty  of  this  work.  It  is 
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knowledge." — Boston  Statesman. 

"  The  Family  Librarj;  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  person.  Thus 
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and  agreeable  style We  have  so  repeatedly  spoken  of  the  merits  of  the 

design  of  this  work,  and  of  the  able  manner  in  which  it  is  edited,  that  on 
this  occasion  we  will  only  repeat  our  conviction,  that  it  is  worthy  a  place 
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'.'  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  publications  which  has  ever  issued  from 
he  American  press." — N.  Y.  Courier  if  Enquirer. 

"  The  Family  Library  is,  what  its  name  implies,  a  collection  of  various 
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that  can  afford  it — the  price  being  moderate." — Xeiu-Englayid Palladium. 

''  The  Family  Library  is,  in  ciLl  respects,  a  valuable  work." — Pennsyl- 
vania Inquirer. 

"  We  are  pleased  to  see  that  the  publishers  have  obtained  sufficient  en- 
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publican. 

"  We  recommend  the  whole  set  of  the  Family  Librarj-  as  one  of  the 
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zette. 

"  It  will  prove  instructing  and  amusing  to  all  classes.  We  are  pleased 
to  learn  that  the  works  comprising  this  Library  have  become,  as  they 
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"It  is  the  duty  of  every  person  having  a  family  to  put  this  excellent 
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"  We  have  so  often  recommended  this  enterprising  and  useful  publica- 
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"  It  is  so  emphatically  what  it  purports  to  be,  that  we  are  anxious  to  see 
it  in  every  family. — It  is  alike  interesting  and  useful  to  all  classes  of 
readers." — Albaiiy  Evening  Journal. 

"  The  little  volumes  of  this  series  truly  comport  with  their  title,  and  are 
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"  We  have  met  with  no  work  more  interesting  and  deservedly  popular 
than  this  valuable  Family  Lihrar\-."— Monthly  Repository. 

"  The  plan  of  Che  Farnily  Librarj-  must  be  acceptable  to  the  American 
reading  community."— JV.  Y.  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"To  all  portion^  of  the  community  the  entire  series  may  be  warmly 
recommended."— .4>nerfcan  Traveller. 

"  It  is  a  delightful  pubiicatioa."— TVMiA  Teller 


VALUABLE    WORKS 

Recenlly  Printed  by  J.  &  •).  HARPER,  New- York, 
And  for  sale  by  the  principal  Booksellers  throughout  the  United  State* 


PELHAM  ;  or,  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  GEN- 
TLEMAN. A  Novel.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  [By  the  Author 
of  '  The  Disowned,'  *  Devereux,'  *  Paul  Clifford,'  and 
*  Falkland,']    [Stereotyped.] 

"  If  the  mo»t  brilliant  wit,  a  uarrative  whose  interest  never  flags,  and  Home  pictures  of  f>!e  moul 
riveting  interest,  can  make  a  work  pn-^ilar, '  Pelham'  will  be  a.s  first  rate  in  celeb,  ity  a£  it  is  ia  ex 
Cflience.    The  scenes  are  laid  in  fashionable  life."— jLi/erary  Gas. 

THE  DISOWN E  \  A  Novel.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  [Bv 
the  Author  of  '  Pelliam,'  *Devereux,'  'Paul  Clifford,' 
and  *  Falkland.']    [Stereotyped.] 

"We  have  examined  '  The  Disowned,'  and  find  it  fully  equal  in  plot,  character,  and  description 
to  Peliia-in;  and  vastly  more  philosophic  and  refiectinK.  It  is  by  far  the.  iiiostiintcllectuil  fiction 
that  we  have  seen  for  aj  long  time  ;  and  in  it  mry  be  found  sonie  of  the  finest  uiaxiuis.  and  from 
it  may  be  drawn  some  of  ilie  best  morals,  for  the  guidance  of  the  human  heart."— .d/iiwi. 

DEVEREUX.  A  Novel.  In  3  vols.  12mo.  [By  the 
Author  of  '  Pelham,'  '  The  Disowned,'  '  Paul  Clifford/ 
and '  Falkland.']    [Stereotyped.] 

" — The  author  of  '  Pdhim,'  'The  Disowned,'  and  'Devereux'  possesses  the  most  brill  ajil 
«jjal:ficaliocs  of  a  successful  novelist. — His  conceptioH  of  character  is  exquisite;  his  descriptive 
powers  are  une/jualled  ;  he  has  wit,  pathos,  ener*)-,  and  disciimination  in  an  eminent  de»re«;  »xid 
he  is,  moreover  'ik-  ^b<ilar.  In  one  particular  he  is  not  surpassed  by  any  writei  "f  the  present 
or  of  any  othei  u-  "-  mean  the  faculty  of  imparting  deep  and  imconiroUable  interest  to  bis  »lo 
rieg. ' — N.  Y.  Mirrf  ww  oidies'  Lit.  Gazette. 

PAUL  CLIFFORD.  A  Novel.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  [By 
the  Author  of  '  Pelham,'  *  The  Disowned,'  Devereux,' 
and  *  Falkland.']    [Stereotyped.] 

" '  Piul  Clifford'  is  the  most  original  of  all  Mr.  Bulwers  works,  and  car.-.ot  fail  to  add  Jargely 
to  itb  T>.Titer's  reputation.  For  the  man  of  the  world,  it  contains  shrewdnsss  and  satire:  for  tfi 
moralist,  matter  of  deep  thought;  and  for  the  youug,  alt  the  interest  of  narratife  ana  all  tlM 
Doetry  of  feeling."— T/i*  Jllion. 

FALKLAND.  A  NoveL  [By  tne  Author  of  *  Pelham/ 
*  The  Disovvned,' '  Devereux,'and  '  Paul  Clifford.']  [Ste- 
reotyped.'. 

•*  £a  the  powerful  description  of  intense  feelin?  and  passion,  it  does  not  faj  snort  of  tBg  nteft 
1]  ucBt  wcriL  of  ihe  saae  Author."— A'cto-rorA  UontlUy  Seuino. 


Works  Recently  Published. 

CLOUDESLEY.  A  Novel.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  By 
the  Author  of  "  Caleb  Williams,"  &c. 

"  The  new  Novel  of  '  Cloudesley,'  by  flus  celebrated  writer,  is  admitted  to  be  worthy  ol  hi* 
genius.  The  subject  is  oce  of  those  roriiaaces  of  real  lite  which  sometimes  actually  occur  ;D  so- 
ciety, and  surpass  the  invention  of  hct.on.  'I'here  is  uo  writer  who  kuows  so  well  hcwU'deai 
with  these  as  Mr.  Godivin ;  the  cUiicrutmeiU  and  catastj-opbe  of  the  present  tale  are,  pertiap* 
without  parallel  in  their  impressive  character." — C/ironicU. 

THE  LOST  HEIR ;   and  THE  PREDICTION.     A 

Novel.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  One  of  the  best  told  tales  we  have  met  with  for  souie  time.  The  Story  is  an  excellent  ooe 
and  powerfully  written."— Xite'ar^  GazelU. 

THE  COUNTRY  CURATE.  By  the  Author  Oi 
"  The  Subaltern."     In  2  vols.  12nio. 

*  This  is  a  book  as  soofhin?  and  consolatory,  by  the  wildness  and  beauty  of  the  ipirit  id  which 
t  if  written,  as  it  is  interesting  by  the  force  and  vigour  of  its  descrlptioos,  and  the  general  truth  and 
iaterest  of  toe  materials  of  which  it  is  composed."— Spectator. 

TALES  OF  THE  WEST.  By  the  Author  of  "Letters 
from  the  East,"  &c.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"We  have  perused  this  work  with  much  gratificaiion.  The  lin?T:age  Is  chaste  and  impressive— 
the  portraits  natural,  atd  the  descriptions  vi\id.'^—Aexu-7crk  Mirror. 

"  The  present  tales  have  a'  freshness,  a  vividness  of  colouring,  which  are  never  to  be  found  any 
where  but  ia  the  productions  of  Genius.  The  description  of  Rosemain's  escape  from  the  captured 
■muggler's  ship  woula  not  disgrace  the  pen  of  Scott  himself." — fVaJUy  Review. 

TALES  AND  SKETCHES.  By  a  Country  School- 
master.    In  1  vol.  12mo. 

"  This  13  the  production  of  a  man  of  vigorous  and  healthy  understanding,  good  sense,  shrewd  ob- 
servation, and  much  practical  knowledge  of  the  world  and  its  fashions. Hi*  descriptions  of  rural 

scenery  are  peculiarly  graphic,  vivid,  aiid  poetical,  and  his  conception  of  character,  particularly  fe 
male  character,  beautiful.  In  this  item  of  authorship,  our  pedagogue  is  superior  to  Cooper}  in  hiJ 
nautical  descriptions  nearly  or  quite  equal." — N.  F.  Minor, 

STORIES  OF  WATERLOO,  and  other  Tales.  In 
2  vols.  12mo. 

These  are  two  volumes  of  beautiful  tales,  written  in  language  the  most  elegant,  with  narrativet 
of  eitrejne  interest,  yet  simple  and  natural. 

PEACE  CAMPAIGNS  OF  A  CORNET.  A  Novel. 
In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  It  is  full  of  stories,  and  told  in  exactly  that  manner  which  will  render  it  highly  popular.  Its 
adventures  of  humour  and  fun — its  anecdotes — its  practical  jokes — and  its  personal  quizzes  and 
caricatures  are  very  amusing,  and  furnish  matter  for  much  pleasant  reading. " — Lcn.  WedUy  RtKieio. 

ST.  VALENTINE'S  DAY;  or,  THE  FAIR  MAID 
OF  PERTH.  Being  Second  Series  of  "  Chronicles  of 
Canongate."    By  the  Author  of  Waverley.    2vols.  12mo. 

ALMACK'S  REVISITED;  or, HERBERT  MILTON. 
A  Novel.    In  2  vols.  12mo. 

— /^PTCTAN  MORSELS.     A  Comical  W^ork.     WUh 


Worh  Recently  Pubhshea. 

STORIES  OF  A  BRIDE.    By  the  Author  of  «  The 
Mummy."    In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"We  like  these  volumes  excefdingly ;  the  narratives  are  very  interesting;  the  style  is  ta 
graceful  aj  it  is  sjjirituel;  and  the  trame- work  both  novel  and  pictuiesque.     The  young  heirpss  i* 

ezcelleutly  Jrawu,  and  her  falling  iclove  is  well  n»ana»ed This  is  a  verj'  original,  at 

well  aa  amusine  work,  and  one  which  we  think  will  be  universally  liked  for  its  piquancy  and  ani. 
niation."— iOTidcru  Literary  Gazette. 

"  These  are  animated  ajid  very  amusing  Stories." — Court  Jourruil, 

RYBRENT  DE   CRUCE.      A  Novel.      In  2  vols. 
12mo. 

"This  Novel  is  one  of  the  most  intelligent  and  interesting  that  the  season  has  produced.'*— 
Court  Jou:  nal. 
"  This  is  a  ver>-  clever  Novel.— The  Author  is  one  from  whom  we  eacpect  much  entertainment.* 
Literary  Gazette, 

rKlVATE  LIFE.     A  Novel.    In  2  vols.  12mo. 

"  Admirab'^  volumes,  with  all  possible  claim  to  attention ....  It  is  a  work  of  whose  talent  aad 
Utility  its  author  may  be  justly  proud."— iojuion  Literary  Gazette. 

THE    LAST    OF    THE    PLANTAGENETS.      An 

Historical    Romance.     In  2  vols.  12mo. 

'•  These  volumes  contain  one  of  the  most  faithful  and  delicate  narratives  that  the  vhole  libiarf 
of  English  Roniacee  can  furnish!  Ihe  plaintiveness,  purity,  and  simplicity  of  the  diction,  ana  the 
BifMiastJc  quietness,  the  unaflecled  tenderness,  and  the  repose  of  the  incidents,  must  render  thia 
work  a  permanent  favourite  wHb  all  readers  of  taste  and  Ittlias"— Atlas. 

"  The  Last  of  Vie  Plantageiieti  is  written  by  one  evidently  master  of  hii"3ubject,  who  must  have  * 
turned  over  many  a  ponderous  volume  for  the  sake  of  the  lighter,  but  much  more  valuable  onei 
before  us."— i.ti.  Gazetu. 

STRATTON  HILL.  A  Tale  of  the  CivU  Wars.  In 
2  vols.  12mo. 

"  There  is  a  considerable  share  of  talent  displayed  in  these  voltmies,  and  they  also  bear  evidence 
of  some  research  aud  industry.  The  scenes  which  the  author  has  chosen  for  the  location  of  hie 
characters  and  incidents,  are  new,  and  as  yet  untouched." — New-yorh  Mirror. 

"  Very  elegantly  written— fortunate  too,  in  having  its  author's  naunted  ground,  Cornwall,  un- 
trodden— blending  historical  information  with  aniiquarian  exactness — treating  of  a  most  exciting 
period— we  camiot  but  highly  commend  Stratton  Hill,  "—iojuf on  Literary  Gazette. 

THE  SCHOOL  OF  FASHION.  A  NoveL  In  2 
vols.  12mo. 

"  This  production  bears  evidence  of  being  written  by  a  person  well  acquainted  with  the  upper 
gprdes  of  life— is  spirited,  and  an  agreeable  production  for  the  lovers  of  romance; — it  contains 
jpaany  hints  that  ought  not  to  be  thrown  away." — Li'-fary  Gazette. 

*•  This  novel  originated  in  a  conversation  at  one  of  the  late  soirees  at  Devonshire  House,  a 
which  one  of  the  parlies  (a  Countess)  happening  to  say  that  in  all  the  fashionable  novels  extant 
the  main  features  of  high  life  had  not  been  full)  developed,  was  challenged  to  write  s  stor» 
herself.  The  fair  lady  undertook  the  task  accordingly,  and  we  are  pleased  in  beijig  abli  ir  say 
that  in  its  performance,  she  has  succeeded  to  admiration." — Times. 

TALES  OF  MILITARY  LIFE.  In  2  vols.  12mo. 
By  the  Author  of  "  The  Military  Sketch  Book." 

"  The  pr'ncipal  scene  of  this  very  striking  narration  is  in  Ireland,  and  the  incidents  are  C0Qiie>tt- 
ed  with  tliose  stirring  times  in  which  the  celebrated  Emmet  bore  so  conspicuous  a  part.  Tfce 
i&}-steries — the  riots — the  strange  histor)-  of  the  hero,  and  the  extraordinary  nature  of  the  charac- 
ters, irresistibly  fix  the  attention  of  the  reader;  and  while  the  military  portion  of  the  incidents  it 
rtndered  promment,  the  political  and  romantic  feature*  assist  in  the  general  attraction  and  eflect." 

Xfew  Monthly  Mn^aiau, 

THE    DOOM    OF    DEVORGOIL,    and    AUCHIN- 


Works  Recently  Published. 

WALTER  COLYTON.  A  Tale.  In  2  vols. 
12mo.  By  the  Author  of  "  Brambletye  House," 
"  Zillah,"  &c.  &c. 

"  The  author  has  ereat  power,  very  ?reat  power ;  and  while  readin;  him,  we  feel  that 
we  hare  a  master  to  deal  with  ;  and  if  he  do  not  reach  'he  ^ndeur  to  which  the  author 
of  Waverlcy  occasionally  rijes,  his  course  is  more  regular,  his  vigour  better  sustained,  aM  ; 

a  more  steady  interest  iskept  up  throughout. — £dmfcurg/i  Magazine. 

THE  NEW  FOREST.     A  Novel.      In   2  vols        1 
12mo.  Bv  the  author  of  "  Brambletye  House,"  "  Zil 
lalC&c.'&c.  ^ 

"  To  say  that  this  novel  is  by  the  author  of  'Brambletye  House,'  implies  that  it  islively,  \ 

praphic,  and  forcible;  and  such  must  be  the  general  inipression  of  'The  New  Forest.'"'  J 

—Court  Journal.  < 

THE  COLLEGIANS.   A  Novel.   In  2  vols.  12mo.      ' 

"  The  stem  imbecility  of  the  heart-broken  gentleman  may  be  comp?jed  in  effect  and  in  I 

;otiching  beauty,  to  that  most  beautiful  and  impassioned  scene  in  the  'Antiquary,'  the 
Fisherman's  lamentation  over  hb  son.    Can  praise  go  higher  ?" — Sptctatcr.  i 

THE  RIVALS.  A  Novel.  By  the  Author  of  ' 
"  The  Collegians,''''  &c.     In  2  volumes,  12mo. 

"  For  touches  of  genuine  pathos,  simplicity,  and  most  tighly-wrougbt  interest,  we  make  ' 

^estion  if  any  thing  of  the  kind  ever  took  "precedency  of  the  S'ories  of  this  writer  ;  and 
their  effect  must  be  to  raise  their  young  au'hor  high  in  the  rank  of  illustrious  names,  norw 
•ecurely  established  in  the  records  of  litentore,  and  highest  of  all  in  the  annals  of  precociota 
genius." — Examiner, 

HUNGARIAN  TALES.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  By  i 
the  Author  of  "The  Lettre  de  Cachet,"  and  "Ro-  | 
mances  of  Real  Life."  \ 

" Written  with  great  vigour  and  purity  of  style,  highly  interesting  in  the  devdope-  ! 

menl  of  the  stories,  and  aboundins  with  fine  and  graphic  descriptions  of  character,  as  well 

as  of  external  objects." — -Vcwr-KorA  yiirror.  ' 

ROMANCES  OF  REAL  LIFE.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  i 
By  the  Author  of  "  Hungarian  Tales." 

"  For  a  light,  free,  flowing,  and  truly  feminine  s'yle,  we  know  not  where  to  lock  for 
Mrs.  Charles  Gore's  equal  among  living  femala    writers,  or  her   superior  among  dead  ; 

ones.    She  is  a  charmm?  writer,  and  rne  who  will  not  easily  find  a  rival,  except  in— herself. 
In  other  words,  she.  and  she  only,  is  the  writer  who  can  iiiake  us  forjcf  the  pleasure  which     ^ 
w»  have  received  from  these '  Romances  of  Real  Life.'  ''—Court  Journal.  ^Mi 

COMING   OUT;  and  THE   FIELD    OF    THe'^ 
FORTY  FOOTSTEPS.     Novels.     By  Misses  Jane. 
and  Anna  Maria  Porter.     In  2  vols.   12mo. 

"  These  works  are  a  proud  testimony,  not  only  to  the  sisterly  love  of  these  ladies,  but  ' 

to  their  high  attainments."'— -Veic-TiwA  Mirror,  | 

THE  BARONY.  A  Novel.  In  2  vols.  12mo.  ! 
By  Miss  Anna  Maria  Porter.  j 

"  This  is  a  delightful  work— it  will  be,  and  deserves  toTie,  big bl>  DopuUr."— ii<  Gazttt*. 


Works  Recently  Published. 

THE  LIFE  OF  NELSON:  (No.  VL  of  thfc 
Family  Library.)  By  Robert  Southey,  Esq.  In  1 
vol.  18mo.     [Stereotyped.] 

"  We  are  pleased  to  find  that  each  succeeding  number  of  the  Family  Libmry  is  worthy 
of  the  promise  held  out  by  (he  first  numbers,  and  the  literary  talents  which  they  display. 
The  preswit  is  among  the  most  interesting  of  those  that  have  yet  appeared."— Cottrter. 

THE  LIFE  OF  ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT: 
(No.  VII.  of  the  Family  Library.)  By  Rev.  J  Wil- 
liams.    In  1  vol.  18m.o.     [Stereotyped.] 

"  Judging  by  the  present  specimen,  the  Family  Librar>-  miut  become  a  favourite  to  a'l 
dasses,  and  benefit  society  in  general."— £.  Joimial. 

GIBSON'S  SUR  ^YING.  Improved  and  en- 
larged.    By  James  K^AN.     8vo. 

This  is  now  the  only  edition  of  Gibson's  Si^rveving  published  in  the  United  States,  and  In 
Rccompanied  with  all  the  necessary  Tables  .and  Engravings,  and  sold  at  a  very  reduced 
price. 

HISTORICAL  VIEW  of  the  LITERATURE  of 
the  SOUTH  OF  EUROPE.  By  M.  De  Sismondi. 
Translated  from  the  Original,  with  Notes.  By 
Thomas  Roscoe,  Esq.     In  2  large  vols.  Svo. 

_  "  This  is  a  valuable  and  interesting  work.  It  presents  a  broad  and  general  view  of  the 
rise  and  progress  of  modem  literature,  which  will  be  read  by  those  who  are  uninformed 
on  the  subject  with  equal  gratifi^tjon  and  improvement." — New  Times. 

BROWN'S  DICTIONARY  OF  THE  HOLY 
BIBLE.  From  the  last  genuine  Edinburgh  edition, 
Svo. 

This  edition  contains  the  Author's  last  additions  and  corrections,  and  farther  enlarged  an  J 
corrected  by  his  Sons ;  with  a  Life  of  the  Author ;  and  an  Essay  on  the  Evidence  of  Chris- 
tianity. 

A  CONCORDANCE  to  the  HOLY  SCRIP- 
TURES of  the  OLD  and  NEW  TESTAMENTS ; 
by  the  Rev.  John  Brown,  of  Haddington.  Printed 
on  Diamond  type,  in  the  32mo.  form.    [Stereotyped.] 

■^is  convenient  and  beautiful  little  pocket  volume,  contains,  verbatim,  the  same  at 
na  original  duodecimo  edition. 

SERMONS  ON  IMPORTANT  SUBJECTS,  by 
the  late  Rev.  and  pious  Samuel  Davies,  A.M.,  some 
time  President'of  the  College  of  New-Jersey.  In 
3  vols.  Svo. 

To  this  edition  are  prefixed,  Menn.oirs  anl  Character  of  the  Author ;  and  two  Sermons  on 
occasion  of  his  Death,  by  the  Rev.  Drs.  Gibbon  and  Flnley,  and  contains  all  'he  Axithor» 
Sermons  ever  published. 

-  ,       \ 

J 


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